Tales
by s2lou
Summary: Tales of love and hate, laughs and cries, rain and sun, light and night... tales of what's hidden by the masks. Onewinged angel: They say that, when you're about to die, a one winged angel comes to visit you... and sometimes it can be an old friend.
1. Alive

**Author's note: I'm taking this fic back and adding some chapters… I also worked on this one and added a few passages (song called "So I see", by Lene Marlin)**

**Alive**

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_So I see it, it's right in front of me_

_What's a matter, oh you cannot see_

_Feeling like I did when you blindfolded me_

_--------_

People around here just seem to think I'm fairly stupid.

I mean, all you need is some logic and common sense. Hakuba and Yoifumi did find by themselves, didn't they, and they didn't live a whole childhood with him.

I know him so well. From that very first rose he ever gave to me, from that first smile and that first laugh, we've been no secret from each other. Until that one, until that very secret.

Right, I didn't know it right away. It took me quite a while to realize, and understand.

It was about one year after Kid had re-appeared, and I looked at him in whatever-class-it-was. He wasn't listening, but that wasn't much of a change (he'd always managed to sleep in class and be brilliant. A bit of a genius, while us mortals were working like slaves behind to keep up). He wasn't paying any attention, but looking through the window and into the sky, showing me only his profile.

It was the first time I ever saw his mask off.

His gaze was that of pain and sadness. Suddenly he wasn't a child anymore, but a young man, mature and serious. The kid who'd been flapping my skirt half an hour before was gone. Something had grown him faster he was supposed to, something like a burden on his shoulders, something that I didn't know of, that was his and his alone. He looked into the sky as if he wished he could fly off, as if he was presently involved in a life beyond our understanding, beyond himself.

His blue eyes, usually sparkling with mischief and self-contentment, were now graver than I had ever seen them. He was only a few feet away, but he looked lost somewhere _else_ altogether, maybe in a dream or a nightmare.

_---------_

_So I hear it, for a brief moment there_

_I thought I knew all those things_

_They were far, far from true_

_But I guess you cannot hide from the truth_

_--------_

I then realized that the _both_ of us weren't children anymore. No matter what masks we could wear, we were thrown into reality, harshly, abruptly. He was playing a comedy, I could now see, a comedy of everyday, from everyone, even from me, to hide that face of his and those violent feelings I could almost hear rowing in his heart. He played a perfectly performed act, day after day, to keep that other truth from any of us.

Yet he was young still – eighteen only, a scholar. He was so young – but he kept that secret causing so mush distress onto his face, a… burden heavy enough to crush him to the ground. Now that his usual mask, childish laughter and careless look, was gone, I could see him older, wiser than many of us, confronted before time with life's hardship, and pain, and grievance.

He had changed. It was so sudden a realization – he had played as though nothing had happened, but he had changed, entirely, completely. He was still Kaito, the same Kaito – and yet different, an older one, riskier too, as if he was dancing with shades so dark he couldn't see how things would turn up before it's too late.

This was the first time I ever saw his mask off – but not the last. I now paid attention to those minor moments of change in his mask, to this sudden and short look of sharpness in his eyes. It happened often, actually, when nobody was watching him, when he thought himself alone.

Once I thought I saw the phantom of a tear, running down his cheek. But it probably was just an illusion.

_---------_

_So I see right through you_

_And I know what you've been up to_

_So I see right through you_

_And I know the things you do_

_---------_

That wasn't enough to believe he was Kid, of course – but I had suspicions. And while time kept on, they just grew, and grew still, 'till I couldn't ignore them anymore.

Kid and Kaito showed so many similarities.

Here's the whole bunch of them, the way I thought them:

1. Kid as young. Kaito was too. (Har har.)

2. Kid was a magician. Kaito was too. (Better, huh?)

3. Kid wore that sarcastic smirk. Kaito did too. (Not simply _a _smirk. _The_ smirk. The arrogant, victorious one, that said he had fooled everyone again.)

4. Kid could dodge away from my mop the way Kaito did. (I tried to beat him once we met during one of his heists. That night he didn't steal the jewel.)

5. Kid was afraid of fish. Kaito was too. (That night either.)

And you will _not_ make me believe that there are in Tokyo _two_ arrogant young men, both magicians, who could dodge away from my mop and were afraid of fish.

Quite a detective, ne?

KAITO WAS KID.

And the more I doubted, the more it struck as the plain, blatant truth. The one that had been just before my eyes and I had refused to see all along.

The rest of it came slowly into place.

The previous Kid, of course, had been his father, Kuroba Toichi-kun. He was a magician too, Kid had disappeared when he had died, and I couldn't easily imagine Kaito taking over a perfect stranger's mask – such as this one. And the easiest deduction from this was that, being Kid, he had been killed, and Kaito was off to find his father's murderers.

And if that was the truth, I could understand why he had kept that secret, even from me. I hated Kid so much – _how _could he have told me?

It was easy to understand, but painful. I knew I couldn't stay in an illusion much longer – but truth was so hard to bear.

Until one night.

_---------_

_So I see it, it's right there in front of me_

_Oh, I'm sorry, you did not wanna see_

_Acting like I did when you betrayed me_

_---------_

_It was another of Kid's heists._

_Another night of shouting and chasing and taking the sparkling jewel he was after. It could – should – have been like any other, Kid stealing, mocking my father and flying away._

_But none of them – neither Kid nor my dad – had expected that unwelcome guest who shot at one, and hit the other._

_My father was in the way, so he just shot at him._

_I remember screaming and running. There was a black veil before my eyes for a moment, and when I could see again, white was tainted of blood._

_Tou-san was bewildered. Kid had saved him._

Kid had saved him.

_There are things we just think impossible, and that happen nevertheless._

_But the most stunned of all was the sniper._

"_Why?" he asked, while Kid was grasping at his injured shoulder, breathing hard. "Why did you save him? He's your enemy, isn't he?"_

_Kid smirked – something like his usual smirk, but sadder. "Oh, yes," he said. "He's my enemy – or else, someone like an overprotective uncle trying to keep me in the good way. 'Till now, he never really succeeded, but never actually failed… he's got his role to play, just like I do. That's why I'll never let you hurt anyone else that important to me."_

_I could've sworn his eyes turned briefly towards me._

_The sniper was arrested soon afterwards, when policemen remembered they were clever and ran for him._

_Tou-san didn't try to arrest Kid that night._

_Not even when he discovered he had stolen the jewel from him, when he had thrown himself over him in order to protect him._

_-----------_

_So I hear it, they didn't have to scream it in my head_

_They could have whispered it instead_

_Cause I'm already over it now_

_----------_

Kaito and Kid. They are, I believe, inseparable.

It's impossible for me to hate one and not the other. Impossible too to love one and not the other.

You guys probably wonder why I'm not telling him I know, that it's tormenting him – that he wants to protect me but he doesn't want to lie to me anymore.

At least, that's what Akako-chan told me when she asked me whether I knew or not. (Don't ask: Lucifer probably told her about it.)

Let's say it's kind of a revenge for lying to me.

And I want to hear it from him, to know why. I'll wait, no matter how long – I'll wait. Id always did.

But to know he was Kid allowed me to understand why he's got so many fan girls, both as Kaito and Kid. Why he is so popular, so… loved.

Because he is, through all his laughs and magic tricks, through his mocking and victorious grin, through his sadness and loneliness, through everything that's _him_, he's arrogant, and childish, and serious, and hurt, and incredibly, wonderfully alive.

_-----------_

_So I see right through you_

_And I know what you've been up to_

_So I see right through you_

_And I know the things you do_

_-----------_

**This is**_** not**_** one of my best stories, nor one of my favourites. But I love the idea. So I just thought I'd post it anyway.**


	2. Trève

**Author's note: No, I don't. And yes, I wish.**

**Here's a fic starring Kid and Shinichi/Conan, **_**but**_** no pairing. **

**For those who didn't know, 'trève' is the French word for 'truce'.**

**------**

**Trève**

**------**

There had been times when he'd thought life was only a matter of black and white. That there was the Good and the Bad, and he was there to defend the former by fighting the latter. He didn't know why he thought that way – maybe because his father was a mystery writer, or perhaps because he was a born detective, but he'd never really paid attention to the criminal's psychology.

But then, one day, he discovered that black and white only existed in extreme cases – like, people making money from children. Apart from those, there were nuances, a _lot_ of nuances. And sometimes good and bad were so entangled it was difficult to make one out of the other. The world wasn't made only of facts and evidence – feelings and sentiments also interacted to disturb the easy way of deducing and understanding everything with coldness. The world was... a lot more deep and full and mysteries.

Those words had marked the seven-years-old he'd been when first hearing them, but he hadn't completely understood them until more than a decade went by and he was finally faced with the son of the man whom by they had been given to him.

Life had been ironical enough to shrink him back to the shape of the seven-years-old he had been, with the only add of old glasses and a heavy burden on his shoulders. He had came up with his pride, thinking he could handle everything with the arrogance of youth, and life had laughed in his face, causing him to lose his prejudice. The world wasn't simple. It wasn't regular either. And it wasn't even understandable, not even for an ace-teenage-shrunk-detective.

In other words, he was screwed up.

He had to cope with it and try not to let go.

He had changed, however. He may not have been aware of it himself, but the guy he used to be – that proud teenage detective – wouldn't be in such a situation, silent and quite motionless. He would've run for the thief and handcuffed him to the nearest signpost.

Instead, he just waited.

He had chased him for a long time – a very long chase through dark and deserted alleys. Ran would be mad at him when he'd come back. Kid, however, didn't seem to notice he was following him – he didn't look quite like his own arrogant self tonight. No victorious grin, no ironical mockery. He was slower, calmer. As if silenced.

When he finally stopped under a street lamp, his face lifted in the yellow light, Shinichi hid behind a corner and watched him carefully. Tonight's heist, tonight's chase were like no other he'd shared with his rival.

Yet, as strange as tonight could be, he would never have expected the Kid to take off his hat and monocle and throw them to the ground along with his cloak, in a sudden and violent access of anger. He then fell on a bench, right under the lamp, and its light finally showed Shinichi the face he'd been so eager as to unmask.

He thought he was looking at himself. The likeliness was striking. The eyes, features – were almost the same, only the hair was different. They were so messy even Kid's top hat hadn't succeeded in smoothing them down. But what shocked him the most was the youth of the guy.

He was a teenager. He was as old as himself – as Kudo Shinichi, anyway.

Of course, he already knew Kid was – now – a young man. But there was a big difference between knowing it and seeing it. A greater difference than he would ever have thought. Where were the grin and the arrogance, the icy slyness of the gentleman thief? Gone, all gone in a face of tiredness and pain. How many masks did he show that way, how many faces did he hide behind the monocle?

Until now, Kid had been nothing but some kind of legend he wanted to unmask. As elusive as a dream, he was like a ghost passing on a stage and disappearing in the shadows. It wasn't real, it was a name, an aim.

But now, reality came back into the dream – and reality was a kid.

_The world is a lot more deep… and full of mysteries._

He hadn't wondered why that mystery existed; he had only wanted to catch him, unmask him, and see that face with the pride of a price-winner. It was a harsh realization, to understand the selfishness of oneself.

Black and white? They had never so little existed. Right or wrong were still understandable notions, but barely. They were… mixed up, as if the tantei and the culprit, in that situation, weren't the expected ones. As if the world had turned upside down, and the perspective was different from there.

So many nuances. He hadn't seen them before, as though the sky he used to see black and plain suddenly appeared spangled with stars.

And there was definitely something changed in him, for his old self would never have gone and bought two coffees, then brought them back and offered one to the Kaito Kid. Such, however, were his actions then.

Kid looked at him with surprise – the blue of his eyes melting with shock and perhaps fear. He accepted the can, though, saying nothing as the little boy settled on the bench beside him.

A few minutes' silence went slowly by, and the two rivals drank their coffee as quietly as if they were perfectly accustomed with such uneasy a situation.

Kid was the one who broke the silence, with a laugh like the phantom of his usual smirk.

"You're a weird detective, tantei-kun. Hakuba or even Hattori would have arrested me right away."

"Baaro!" Shinichi replied pleasantly. "I could arrest Kaito Kid… but right now you're nothing more than a teenager."

"What about that?"

"A sad one."

"Am I?"

He took a thoughtful sip of coffee. Although he had barely moved, his features already showed less pain. Kid's mask slowly fell into place – like a poker player's face.

"Today is the birthday of my father's death," he said abruptly.

Conan looked up at him.

"I'm sorry. When did he die?"

"Eight years ago. I was only ten. He died during one of his magician shows."

"Oh, he was a magician?"

"One of the greatest on earth, yes. He taught me everything. And I loved him…" he lifted him coffee can to his lips, "a lot."

Shinichi was a good observer, but he nearly missed the next look on Kid's face. It was no longer sadness or pain, but sharpness and resentment. It was a look one would hardly expect on a eighteen-years-old face. He was hesitating when he asked, "Was it an accident?"

"No."

Kid looked down at him, the blue of his eyes cold and sharp. "No, it wasn't."

Shinichi didn't mean to ask his next question. But really, he'd learned more about Kaito Kid in about ten minutes than Nakamori-san had in fourteen years. So he just gave it a risk.

"What's your name?"

He knew he wouldn't answer. Logically, there was no way he'd answer. No sensible person would ever…

"Kuroba. Kuroba Kaito."

Shinichi gasped, and Conan's sip of coffee went down the wrong way. Gazes met – one shocked, the other deadpan, both the deepest blue.

"You must trust me a lot to be able to tell me that," the detective, hardly believing it, said. Was it the truth? Wasn't it simply a lie, a mask, a façade? "After all, I'm your enemy."

"No, I'm only a stupid person." Kid – no, Kuroba took a cautious sip of his hot drink. "Moreover, as I know who you are, _Kudo-kun_, I figured I could just let you know who I am."

He caught a glimpse of a smile on Kudo's lips, then silence stretched between them. The clock tower before them struck the late hour, deep ringing that reminded them of time and that in the morning they would still be rivals. Truces were, by definition, quite temporary, and both knew neither would give up before the other did.

"What'll happen tomorrow?" Conan asked, putting his half empty can down on the bench near Kid's.

The thief glanced at him, and for the moment he found himself talking no more to a seven-years-old, but to a guy about his age, who had buried his hands in his pockets and was looking gravely at him.

"Well," he said slowly, "we'll both have to go to school… high school for me."

"Yeah, thanks for reminding me."

A gentle laughter came up. "Your Mouri-neechan will tell you off for sleeping over, then your friends will come to greet you… they're great kids, you know."

"Yeah…" Shinichi couldn't help a smile. "Only a bit too much enthusiastic." He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. "What about you?"

"Hum. I'll probably amuse my classmates with magic tricks…" he snapped his fingers and a pigeon burst out from nowhere, perching on his fist. "Koizumi will try to impress me with her stupid tales… Hakuba will charge me for being the Kid…"

"Hakuba?" That was something Shinichi hadn't expected. "You mean the tantei?"

"The _other _Sherlock Holmes obsessed, yeah, only he's blond…"

"You're _classmates_ with him?"

An amused look appeared on Kid's face. "Yeah. He figured out who I was about one year ago, but he never succeeded in pinning me down. Oh, and I'll probably try to flap Aoko's skirt, and she'll be chasing me with her mop during all math class…"

Shinichi chuckled mentally at the picture, but Conan raised the other eyebrow. "A mop. Sure. Who's Aoko?"

"My childhood friend." A softer smile tugged at the thief's lips for a moment. "She's the one who keeps me in the good way. Or so to speak."

"Hum."

"What?"

"Nothing." Conan smirked at him in pure Kid-fashion. "Only your face softened when you talked about her. You looked happier."

"Did I, really."

"Do you love her?" Shinichi shot at him.

"Do you love Ran?" Kaito shot back.

"Okay, that was a stupid question."

"So it was."

"Does she know?" Conan asked, realizing how much this looked like Ran and himself.

"No." The cold glitter in Kid's eyes sharpened. "She's Nakamori-kebu's daughter, actually."

"Ouch!"

"Yeah, that kinda sums up the situation quite well."

"No, really, I suffer for you.'

'Thanks." He pointed at the dark shape of the building on the other side of the square. "We met right here. Under the clock tower. I offered her a rose… That was ten, no, eleven years ago."

_I won't let you take the tone if this clock._

Conan looked up a him, then smiled down at her coffee can. "I see."

"Hum?"

"Why you left the enigma on that clock last year."

Kuroba's eyes widened with understanding.

"Oh. Right. So you were that guy in the copter, ne?" _The one who pushed me to the brink. Should've known, of course._

"… maybe so," Conan answered dreamily at the sky.

"And by the way…" He searched his pockets and got out the brilliant ruby he'd stolen that night. He held it out in the moonlight, and neither moved for a whole minute. Then he shrugged. "Guess it's not the one I was looking for," he said, throwing it at Shinichi.

Conan caught it easily. "And _which_ is the jewel you're looking for?"

"…" Only a repulsive silence responded him.

"You won't tell me?"

Kuroba stood, finishing his coffee. "I told you once that some mysteries are better left as mysteries."

"And why is that one?" Conan pushed him.

"Why aren't you telling Mouri-sama who you are?" He began to play with the empty can.

Shinichi shook his head in a bittersweet laugh. "You're really a weird guy, you know."

"Told you I was a stupid person."

Conan shrugged and kicked his can in the nearest bin. Kid applauded politely.

"Nice shot," he said. "But _this_," he made his own can disappear, "is cleaner."

"There really is no black and white, is there?" Shinichi asked, changing abruptly the course of discussion. Kid didn't seem to mind.

"No. No, there isn't. It's all a matter of perspective – but the world is way more complicated."

"A lot more deep and full of mysteries."

The magician stopped making his can appear/disappear, appear/ disappear, appear/… and so on, and gazed inquisitively at his rival. "Where does _that_ philosophy come from?"

"A man told me those words when I was seven…"

"Oh, that means not so long ago."

"Shut up, Kuroba."

Some more glaring at each other later, "Whatever. Anyway, he was a remarquable man. Kept me out of my house and away from Conan Doyle for one whole day."

"Remarquable indeed," Kaito sighed, leaning against the street lamp with the weary look of one confronted with the other's particularly boring hobby.

"If I remember well what my own father told me afterwards…"

"What do you mean, 'your own'…"

"… his name was Kuroba Touichi."

There was a crash, the can fell down on the ground, and Kid grabbed the post not to fall over with it.

"Remarquable man," he agreed.

Conan shrugged – for the hundredth time of the evening, it seemed to him. To have to cope with magicians obviously meant having to cope with out-of-common reactions.

"I guess I'll just go back and give this to Nakamori-san so that your fiancée won't be in too bad a mood tomorrow morning." He grinned at him.

Kaito made a mental note not to be talking seriously with detectives _ever more_. They just seemed to be reading your mind…

"Careful, brat. I already disguised as your Ran-neechan. I can do it twice. She's a karate master, isn't she?"

Shinichi smiled. "Any time. I've unmasked you before."

He meant it, Kid realized. _That_ smile wasn't fake. It was the smile of a rival, of an equal. An 'I'll be expecting you' smile.

He backed a few steps away, bowing deeply. "Will you catch me next time?"

"Of course!" Shinichi bowed back.

With this they parted, both going back to different, though similar lives. They were both wearing masks, several layers of lies, so that they could fool the only dearest ones they wished they could tell the truth to. Between them would stay the memory of a nice coffee, and of some words a man had said long ago, recalling them that things weren't always what they seemed, that the world was in constant change and that, damnit! there was always one truth.

Always a reason behind everything. Sometimes, behind the masks and lies, there was a need to protect those one cared for. Even a rival was important. Especially a rival whom you could trust.

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**I really like this fic. I don't know why, it just sounds good. Kaito and Shinichi are both deeply hurt, I guess, in their lives and in their minds, and I thought it would be nice for them to understand each other, to realize that rivalry is about respecting one another. **

**What? that 'sama' thing? Oh, yes, I think Kid really respects Ran, even though he disguised as her to fool Conan. After all, she's the only woman on earth who can handle such a guy as Shinichi. That calls for respect, doesn't it?**


	3. Winter's son and autumn's daughter

**Author's note: Nah-uh. I still don't own anything. Really no reason why I should, hm…**

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Spring was a lovely season.

Summer wasn't bad either.

Autumn was the most beautiful.

But winter... winter was different. Winter meant white. Winter meant snow, cold.

Of all the seasons in the year, winter was the most stunning one. The one that awoke you at six in the morning, everything dark still, the wind rushing against the closed window. The one that gave you the feeling you were alive, completely, wholeheartedly alive.

Winter was the most frightening and wonderful season. And Kaito was like that, too. He was winter itself, the wind itself. Once here, next time there... never where he was expected to be. Both cold and warm, like winter's freezing wind and the comfortable warmth of the fireside. His father used to call him "winter's son", but Aoko knew it was more than just that. Kaito wasn't dependant of the weather or the period of the year. He was in winter just like he was in every other season, it was the people around that changed. In winter, they were less busy, less excited about everything. Kaito was a contrast, because he stayed the same. He _was_, simply.

He never noticed it. And no one ever remarked that in winter Kid was different than in other seasons, that his grin was more brilliant, his movements more confident compared with those of the people around him.

Everything that happened between them, every event that had changed their lives in one way or another, had occurred in winter. Her mother had left in January. His dad had died in February. First time someone had called them husband and wife, December, for Christmas, oh joy. First chase with a mop, December too, and that had been the longest present they had ever shared. Everything, except their meeting, which was in autumn. Lovely season, autumn. It fitted her perfectly, or so he said.

He'd asked her once why she kept him as a best friend. She'd smacked him on the head, saying a lot of crap about how you didn't choose your friends, who would she chase with a mop if he wasn't there, and why did he think he was her best friend anyway?

But, indeed, the truth was nothing like that. Only that, true, she hadn't chosen him as her best friend. He had become so, very simply. It was... dunno, natural.

Her falling in love with him had been natural too. Perhaps the right word was gradual, for she had seen nothing coming. Then one morning, a winter morning, she had opened her window and he'd been there, waiting for her in the street, in spite of the early hour and the cold. He was leaning against a still lightened lamp, his hands dug into her pockets and his bag under his arm, breathing. He was perfectly still, and he hadn't even seen her, but she had understood, that morning, that she was in love with her childhood friend.

Everyone in school who had heard about them knew it. Kuroba Kaito and Nakamori Aoko, the ones that were dating without even knowing it. Nobody actually tried

to divide them, except Koizumi and Hakuba after they had just arrived in school. But even them – the incredibly beautiful witch and the stunningly handsome heir - soon gave up. There were couples that were meant to be. It wasn't fate or anything - it was…

Simply love.

Yet people talked about them around the school. There were rumours, there were tales. Tales of a winter magician and a autumn princess, always together through the year. The class' writer made that once upon an afternoon, during a Japanese period, and soon afterwards it was universally known, but for the interested ones. It was a beautiful story of feelings repressed and hidden secrets - it was probable the writer didn't know how close he was to the truth.

The tale added to the legend. They were liked, they became respected. Being in love with each other for so long a time... it was incredible, and yet fantastic.

And through winters the years went by. After middle school came high school, then graduation day. They weren't dating. They said so, and it was the truth. They didn't need to date.

They were best friends, so they occasionally shared hugs and clumsy kisses on the cheeks and foreheads. As the years went by, they seemed to appreciate it even more. There was something more in those embraces, now that they were young adults. Kisses came more often, in a rather softer way, especially from Kaito. He was the one hiding secrets from her after all.

They were in their first year in university. And winter was back, once again. People around them, those that didn't know them, thought they were really dating. It was the period when relationships became serious.

They didn't bother to deny, like they did in high school, those quick, clumsy denyings that only added more weight to the accusations. They didn't bother to deny.

Kisses and embraces were common things now. They liked it, though they never said a word about it. His cheeks were cold still, but he was a winter's son. And whenever he took her in her arms, her face, in spite of the years passed, still took a nice shade of red, like autumn's leaves falling from the sky.

The only thing they didn't know was that kisses were addictive. Once tasted, you could never pull away. They had begun with friends' kisses. Then the embraces became more intimate, the feelings stronger.

They discovered it on one winter day. He'd walked her to her flat, like he always did. Pausing on the doorstep, interrupting the conversation they were having about the last assignment they had received, Aoko opened her arms to him for a goodbye hug, like everyday. Everything was like everyday, like yesterday.

Then why did it turn that way?

He'd hugged close, simply close. Her face was buried against his chest, his arms wrapped around her shoulders and soothing her back. It was a very comfortable position, warm and all. They could have remained like that for a whole eternity of winters, if it hadn't been for a chilling breeze rushing past them, recalling them they had a life to attend to.

"Well," he said, smiling down at her.

"Well," she said, smiling back.

"See you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

He loosened his arms a little, bending to kiss her forehead. Then he changed his mind and placed the kiss on her lips.

It was surprising, but not too much. And for once, his lips were warm. His hands went up on her shoulders, caressing her neck under her hair. And she simply leant against him, giving in the kiss.

The next morning, when she opened her window, he was down there, in the street, waiting for her. This time he lifted his gaze and saw her, leaning against the windowsill, smiling down at him. He smiled back, winter's wind warming his cold cheeks.

"Wanna come in?" she proposed. "I can offer you tea."

"Then tea it is," he said with his laughing voice.

She rushed downstairs to open the door to him, to him and the freezing breeze that came in along with him. Seeing her before him, he bent towards her, then headed for the inside. She remained motionless for a second. Then she followed him, a small smile tugging at the lips he'd just kissed.

In the white kitchen, they exchanged casual words while the water was boiling, then they settled at the small table. And time stopped for the moment they took to drink their tea and laugh with each other, on this winter morning, only separated by the kitchen table.

They had never lost each other, but they had found each other, in winter light.

Dating, not dating. Who cared?

They had always been together, winter after winter.

Spring would come and they would be together to affront it. Summer would pass by like a night's dream.

Then they would be back, back in their story, autumn's daughter and winter's son.

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**I wrote this on a rainy, summer afternoon… so I really don't know where it comes from. I had no idea what I was going to write while settling at the computer, and, well… it ended on this. I like it, anyway. Now you've read it, you could as well review, couldn't you?**


	4. Il y a deux filles en moi

**Author's note: I own neither the characters, nor the story, nor the song. At least it's clear…**

**For a change, this is a Shinichi/Ran fic, Ran-centered mostly. The song is called 'Il y a deux filles en moi' (French song, as you have noticed), by Françoise Hardy and Sylvie Vartan. I was listening to it and it reminded me so much of Ran… so I hurried and wrote this although it didn't exactly turned the way I thought it would.**

**------**

_Il y a deux filles en moi_

There are two girls inside me

------

Mouri Ran's mother, Kisaki Eri, had left when her daughter was only ten. For three long years, she and her father had eaten fast food and reheated pizzas. Then, one memorable evening when Mouri Kogoro had fallen asleep on his plate – or, rather, had got knocked down by alcohol – Ran had decided she was fed up and begun to dig into her mom's recipe books.

Ever since, the kitchen had been her territory. She was actually good at it, contrary to Eri, and even if she wasn't, it was either that or starving. The two males in the household were no use at all. Kogoro knew barely how to open the fridge to get himself a beer and Edogawa Conan was, well, seven.

Her day began in the kitchen and ended in the kitchen. From the morning breakfast to the evening supper, such was her dominion, just like her father's was his desk and the television, and Conan's was the outside with his friends. Meanwhile, from dawn to twilight, her life was that of a normal, smiling seventeen-years-old, high school student, karate champ, detective daughter, and adoptive neesan of a precocious, genius kid.

From twilight to dawn, however, things were a bit different.

------

_Il y a deux filles en moi_

There are two girls inside me

_Celle qui respire la joie_

One who's a picture of joy

------

7.30 am

First thing in the morning was making breakfast. All the guys did was getting out of their bedroom, sitting at the table and beginning to complain. She was sure that whenever she was sick or sleeping at Sonoko's, they went down to Café Poirot instead of opening the fridge and taking the milk.

The flat was silent as she took her shower and chose her clothes. When she entered the living-room, dust was glittering in the air in thin rays between the curtains. She opened them, letting sunshine invade the room, and went over to the kitchen. She could then be heard humming lightly to herself as she prepared the meal.

Her father was usually snoring when she got up. As for Conan, he may be awake at times but that he wasn't of the morning kind was an understatement. When in this mood, he reminded her a lot of Shinichi.

He always reminded her of Shinichi, Shinichi when he was seven and they went to school together. Now she was taking Conan-kun over to the same school, holding his hand in hers. They both enjoyed those walks as a neechan and her little brother, talking of his father's cases or the last football match they had watched on TV.

His bunch of friends usually joined on the way, always together, and started fussing around with their childish voices and childish matters. Genta was eating some remain from his breakfast, Ayumi hurried to talk to Conan first of all, Mitsuhiko wished Ran a good day with his affected voice, and Ai kept silent, watching them all with her grave eyes. Sometimes they even met Sonoko, who accompanied them to the school gates, where they parted.

A last wave of the hand at Conan who waved back, and the girls left off to their own classes, chatting of nothing in particular.

------

_Il y a deux filles en moi_

There are two girls inside me

_Celle qui pleure tout bas_

The other cries for herself

------

09.00 pm

By this time, she had tucked Conan in bed. She had to check on him a couple of times, because she had already caught him reading some mystery novel under his covers. Her father had usually got drunk and fallen asleep in front of the news, so that she had to wake him up with karate threats and pull him to his bed, where he lay snoring at the moon.

Then the evening was hers to dispose of.

She was seventeen. She could have been going out with friends, going to dance or to the movies. She could have enjoyed her life like she was supposed to, like she did during the day.

Instead, she washed the dishes and did her homework. At 10.30, she checked on the lights, locked the office door and went off to sleep.

Every night, the same gestures, the same dance. The same ritual she accomplished mechanically, thinking of something else altogether. One after the other, the lights went out, those of the kitchen first, then the stairs, the bathroom when needed, the dining-room, and finally the small lamp on her bed table, which she slowly switched off, driving the room in the shadows.

She lay then in her bed, staring at the ceiling with an empty gaze. The darkness wasn't deep, the night not much advanced yet. A rectangle of nightlight came through the drawn curtains, shading the walls a shimmering white.

So cold…

She shivered at the though and tucked herself under the covers, burying her head into her pillow, then prayed for sleep to come and take her off quickly. She did not wish to be left alone in emptiness and silence.

------

_L'une me dit que tu m'aimes_

One tells me that you love me

_Et l'autre ne le croit pas_

The other doesn't believe it

------

10.30 am

_Ran…_

"Ran…"

"RAN!"

She looked up, startled, only to meet Sonoko's pouting face. "Hm?"

"Don't 'hm' me, Ran! I was asking if you'd come for the prom night!"

Ran paused for a moment to collect her thoughts, which had gone wandering somewhere away from the classroom. The prom night. The ball. Yes.

Honestly, the answer was no. She didn't want, nor thought she would enjoy, to go to that ball. But Sonoko…

"Do I have to?" she asked lamely.

Her friend glared at her just like she had uttered an obscenity. "Now, I wonder… One," she counted on her fingers, "you're gorgeous, especially with that red robe you've only put on once…"

"Sonoko!"

"Two, you're a karate master, black-belted, tournament-winner…"

"What's that got to do with…"

"Three, you're intelligent – but you can be so dense at times!"

"Sonoko!"

"Four, you're popular…"

"No, I'm…"

"Five, half the guys here are mad about you…"

"No, they… they are?"

"… and would fall at your knees if you only deigned to look down at them, so yes, Ran, I _really_ wonder."

Ran forced herself to laugh. "I _would _come, but I don't have any partner…"

"And, _'I still hope Shinichi'll come back in time to ask me to go and then we'll sail off on our honeymoon'_…" Sonoko rolled her eyes at the ceiling and went back at her friend with that dirty grin Ran had learned to hate. "That's what you were thinking, right?"

"Wha- no!"

"You're blushing."

"Am not!"

"Are too."

Sonoko could be _so _annoying at times…

------

_Pour les deux, j'ai de la peine_

For the both, I have sorrow

_Il y a deux filles en moi_

There are two girls inside me

------

00.00

Insomnia is a very bothering stuff. Those of you who are familiar with it should know how exasperating it can be. Hours and hours of that frustrating feeling that sleep is sooo close, but just beyond reach, of staring blankly at the ceiling, of turning back and forth in one's bed with a hundred of silly questions – on one's stomach or one's back, face up or into the pillow, the covers up or down – and most of all, as hours pass by, the rage at oneself for not being able to drift off.

The most common thought in such a time is, "What did I _do_ to deserve this?"

Ran's was something like that, but more abstract. Thoughts were spinning in her mind like capricious kites twirling in a wind she wasn't able to control. Headache was growing so close and powerful, threatening her need of logic and simplicity.

When had night fallen? Twilight seemed so far-away. The smiling faces of her dad and Conan came back to her like erasing pictures… and hers too, her own laughter and witty responses, as if they had belonged to someone else in an old film, someone so numb and weak now…

Ran? Yes, that was her name… or at least she thought so. In the whiteness of this restless night, certainties and assurances seemed – no, _were_ – fragile and crackled. She could be Ran all right, but she could be some other kind of person as far as she knew. Maybe Ran was fast asleep and she was only the ghost of the laughing girl she usually was, an immaterial ghost weeping over the sadness she succeeded to hide during the day.

She rolled on her back, her arms struggling out of the covers. Cold air brushed past them as they lay down on the top blanket. She remained in this position for a few moments then, out of patience, sat on her pillow, growling at herself. She glanced at the luminous numbers of her clock – it was only several minutes past midnight.

She sighed and flopped back down on her pillow.

This was going to be a very, very long night…

------

_L'une dit j'ai de la chance_

One says that I am lucky

_Et pour lui j'ai tant d'amour_

I have so much love for him

------

02.00 pm

"Mouri-san? Mouri-san, may I talk to you for a minute?"

Ran actually didn't quite understand the situation until, as she followed the guy, she caught the seductive wink Sonoko sent them.

_Don't like that… _she thought.

She came back a few minutes later, dumbfounded. Her legs dropped her to the grass near her friend.

"He asked me to go to the ball with him," she said, words leaving her lips with the speed of a machine gun.

Sonoko made a victory sign that meant, 'I already know that.' "Well, that's great, Ran! Now we both have partners, we'll be able to enjoy that ball at its right value!"

This, in Suzuki Sonoko's world, meant, "Now ask me who's my partner," but Ran shook her head.

"I didn't say yes."

"What?"

Silence.

Sonoko, who until a few moments ago had been grinning like a maniac, switched off to her Let's Reprimand Ran mode.

"You _refused_ him?"

"I…"

"Ran, do you know who he is? I mean, he's _hot! _Half of the girls here are at his feet – ever since Kudo-kun's gone, that is. He's the most popular guy in the whole school!"

"He is?"

"I can't believe – you said _no?_ He chose you, of all people, and you say…"

"I didn't say no."

Sonoko blinked at her – twice.

"But you said…"

"I said I hadn't said yes, which is different." She shrugged. "I didn't know him well so I told him I'd think about it."

Sonoko gave her a pitiful look. "You're really head over heels about him, aren't you?"

"What? Who?" she asked, though knowing, of course, whom she was talking about.

"Don't play innocent with me. Did Kudo-kun call, these last days?"

Ran found herself blushing furiously, cursed herself for doing so, and answered with as much dignity as she could, "As a matter of fact, he did. And don't you start calling him my husband!"

Sonoko probably did, but Ran didn't listen. She was too busy being angry with herself. Why, why, _why_ did she always have to blush madly whenever his name was pronounced in the area?

She never had any problem talking with him on the phone, or seeing him – rarely, she had to admit, but – she refused to think that way. Not in full light. Not in mid-day.

After all, it wasn't as if that idiot, stupid, silly mystery freak was right there with her at the very moment, was it?

Was it?

------

_Que mon coeur aura confiance_

My heart will be confident

_Attendant son retour_

Awaiting his return

-------

01.30 am

_Ran…_

_Ran…_

_Oï, Ran, listen to me…_

_Hey! Ran!_

She looked up, as startled as if someone had tapped on her shoulder. Her gaze swept across the room, stopped on the closed door.

"Shinichi?"

She stumbled up into the living-room, but he was nowhere to be seen. And she hadn't heard his voice either – it was simply an illusion, an echo wandering on the borders of her tired mind.

She stood on the doorframe, sadly staring at the emptiness of the living-room. Once again she had thought he was back, and once again it was only a dream created from nothing.

"Shinichi…"

It had already happened – dozens of times, hundreds of times. She knew all of it by heart – the sudden, tender recognition of his voice, the ephemeral feeling of hope as she kicked her covers away and crossed the empty space between her bed and the door, the weak creaking of its opening – then the shimmering moonlight on the deserted floor.

Instinctively, her eyes turned to the phone – maybe he'd called, maybe he'd left a message, maybe that was what she'd heard… but there was nothing. There never was anything.

She leaned against the doorframe, closing her eyes. "Please," she prayed. "Please… come back to me."

------

_L'autre dit demain peut-être_

The other says that tomorrow

_Il ne me reviendra pas_

He may not come back to me

------

05.00 pm

"So your father received a Kid's note announcing his next heist?"

Ran nodded absently. "Yes, but it's impossible to make out. Kid may be a good thief and an incredible showman, but his poet skills are detestable."

She turned, and immediately jerked back; Sonoko was in full starry-eyed mode. Literally. She'd clasped her hands together and there were a lot of pretty stars in her usually brown eyes. If anything, the air around her had gone pinker.

"_Raaaan…"_ she said, approaching her, and Ran hurriedly stepped back, "would you mind… if…"

"If…"

"If… I came over at your house and copied the note? I mean, it's an original, and I would put it safely in my Kid book…"

"Wait… you mean you keep everything about Kid in a _notebook?_"

"You don't?"

"Not exactly…"

"Anyway, I'll keep it and publish it one day…. The title'll be, 'The Chronicles of Suzuki Sonoko and Kid the Phantom Thief'!"

"Err­–"

"You think it's a bad title?"

"Err – Sonoko, I'm afraid tou-san already took the note over at the police. It'll be in the papers tomorrow…"

'Really?"

"Sorry."

They parted at the next crossroad. Ran resumed her walk alone, chuckling at her friend's ideas. She was still smiling as she passed by the football field.

"_Ran, were you waiting for me?"_

She turned at the young man who'd been talking to her through the chicken wire.

"What?"

He gave her a surprised look and repeated, "Can you hand me my bag? It's the blue one over there."

"Oh… Sure."

He thanked her and went away onto the ground. She watched his back, smiling for herself.

_Really…_

She walked on. A kid pursuing a ball crossed her path. She bent and caught the toy easily.

"Here," she said, handing it back.

"_Oï, children like you shouldn't be playing in such a dangerous place!"_

"Oneesan?" the child said shyly, staring at her wide eyes and open mouth.

"Don't play on the road, kiddo." She stood up and slowly walked down the street, trying to catch the last snatches of his voice.

"Hello, Ran-chan," one of the shopkeepers called out.

"'_Hey, Ran, aren't you finished with your shopping yet? We're supposed to be working at my house, remember?"_

"_Oh, Kudo-kun, let Ran-chan take her time!"_

"Hello, Okuda-san!" she called back.

Most of the shopkeepers in the street knew her since she was ten. And, as Shinichi was always with her, they knew him too.

"How's your father, Ran-chan?"

"_Occhan hasn't still given up his detective job?"_

"He's fine, obaa-san!"

"Ran-chan, why don't come over and have a drink?"

"_Ran, careful with those guys. They would seduce you if they could. … What? No, I'm not jealous! … Baaro! It's because of the sun!"_

"Maybe tomorrow!"

"Ran-chan, where's that detective boyfriend of yours?"

"_I'm your… childhood friend. And if you were ever in danger, I'd be the first to come and help you."_

"Off on a case… and he's not my boyfriend!"

"_Ran! Move it, we're late!"_

… _yet, _she thought. _You see, Sonoko, even if I wanted to, I couldn't forget him…_

"_The Sherlock Holmes of the nineties…"_

"_Then Tropical Land it is!"_

"_Typical of you, captain, my captain…"_

_... he's everywhere in the whole district._

------

_La maison sera déserte_

The house shall be empty

_La vie s'arrêtera_

And my life shall stop

------

03.00 am

One year, she thought. It's been one year.

She was sitting by the living-room window, looking onto the street. She couldn't go back to sleep. She couldn't sleep, not after…

One year. It'd been one whole year since he'd gone, and she'd only seen him… three times… four, counting the Christmas Eve when she hadn't _seen _him, but heard him and touched him,

One year… it felt surreal.

One whole year without him… without walking school with him, exchanging notes in class, laughing and arguing with him, teasing him and other karate kicking at him.

_How _had she been able to go on through this?

She was now seeing the last year with eyes of the Ran she'd been twelve months ago, of a girl who had spent her whole existence, ever since early childhood, at the side of Kudo Shinichi, and who simply couldn't imagine her life without him. Shinichi _couldn't_ be gone, Shinichi… had always been there, and there he would always stay.

Otherwise? she asked tiredly.

Otherwise… and the one-year younger Ran gave a chocked sob, otherwise I think I'd die. Remember when he fell sick and I couldn't see him for one entire week? Remember how I felt?

Yes, she thought ruefully. I remember.

A soft noise on the windowpane made her start. Ran was beginning to fall. Drops were dripping on the transparent surface, matching the tears that ran down her cheeks.

"Shinichi," she sobbed, burying her face in her crossed arms. "Shinichi…"

It was relieving to cry after the tension of the day – let it go, let it drop, everything that was held back since the previous morning. It was relieving to weep softly, forehead pressed hard against the cold glass, to emerge from the abusive dream and feel one's share of reality for a change.

Crying was so simple… and, at the same time, so hard to bear, so difficult to understand one's weakness and one's sadness. To know what love is about – that it's neither rosy nor dark, that nothing is the way it seems – and to hope… and to fear…

------

_Il y a deux filles en moi_

There are two girls inside me

_Celle qui respire la joie_

One is a picture of joy

------

08.00 pm

"Here you are!" she said gleefully, putting the plate down on the table. Her dad and Conan cheered at the same time then glared at each other with mortified looks.

She just laughed.

The supper was devoted to the narration of their respective days – Kogoro having spent his drinking beer and yelling at Yoko, Conan going to school and playing soccer with the Shounen Tantei.

Ran told them about the prom ball and the guy who'd asked her out at the end of the meal. In a glimpse, she saw Conan's fork fall in his plate with a metallic _thud_, before Kogoro nearly knocked the table over and began to bawl. His words were almost incomprehensible but sometimes parts could be caught that said, "… won't let her… gotta catch him… who's the jerk!"

"Ran-neechan," Conan's little voice emerged after Kogoro had yelled as much as he wanted and drunk half his beer can in one go," did you say yes?"

She smiled at him. "I didn't say anything, Conan-kun. I told him I'd think about it."

His face shattered, but he made no comment and turned away.

They did not tackle the subject of this guy again but before the evening was over Conan came to talk to her.

"Ran-neechan?"

She was washing the dishes then and turned a surprised face at him. "What is it, Conan-kun? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"Yes," he admitted. "But… I wanted to tell you… that…"

"That?"

"That… I talked to Shinichi-niisan on the phone this afternoon," he blurted out.

Her heart flinched a little when he said his name – night was almost there and her mind was tired of her distraught lies – but she tried to keep her smiling face.

"Really, Conan-kun? What did he say?"

"He told me about the prom ball."

Ran's hand froze on the sponge.

"He asked if you had a partner…"

She turned the water off and looked down to him. This time her smile had gone numb.

"What did you say?"'

"That I didn't know. Ne, Ran-neechan, should I call him back and tell him you've got a partner?"

She kept silent.

"Because… because he told me that…" he hesitated, she had rarely seen him so childishly shy. "That if he could he'd reserve every dance of every ball in your life."

She fell on her knees and, before he could move or speak again, wrapped him in a tight hug.

"He said that?" she asked near his ear.

He was silenced for a few moments, then he buried his face in her hair, nodding. "Yes," he said, and his tiny arms hooked around her neck to return the hug. "Yes, he said that."

She said nothing but her shoulders shivered a little and he knew she was holding back her tears – he's already seen her cry at night so many times.

"Well, Conan," she said finally, loosening her grab around him and drying her eyes to give him a clumsy smile, " next time you talk to him on the phone, tell him that I don't have any partner."

His eyes widened with surprise. "But–"

"I'll say no. I don't really know the guy, and… knowing Shinichi, he'd be able to come just for the prom ball then disappear again."

I wish, he thought. He promised himself to talk to Haibara about that.

"And, Conan-kun?"

"Yes, Ran-neechan?"

"Will you tell him that… when he wants to know such things, he'd better ask _me?_"

"Sure."

He walked a few steps away – then suddenly turned back, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, on the cheek, of course.

"Good night, Ran-neechan." He smiled at her.

She smiled back, a much more warm smile than the false ones she usually bore. "Good night, Conan-kun."

Beyond the window, the sun downed slowly in an ocean of dark blue and black.

And thus, another night began.

------

_Il y a deux filles en moi_

There are two girls inside me

_Celle qui pleure tout bas_

The other cries for herself

------

05.30 am

The rain had stopped an hour ago.

Ran was cuddled up in the armchair near the window, in a position that recalled that of a cat's. She was deeply asleep – dried tears marked her cheeks but her breath was peaceful. Maybe she was dreaming – her face was grave and a sad smile stretched her lips. Her body was shivering in the morning's cold.

Someone – a fairy, perhaps, or some little elf – had covered her with a white blanket.

Through the window, between two immense buildings, the sun was rising from thin clouds into the clear azure of the sky. Light suddenly filled the whole room and the dreamer mumbled something under her breath before hiding her face with her arm.

A bird twittered playfully on a tree nearby – the postman's van roared down the street.

And thus, another day began.

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_Mais leur amour est le même_

But their love is the same

_Et les deux n'aiment que toi_

And the both only love you

_Mais leur amour est le même_

But their love is the same

_Il y a deux filles en moi_

There are two girls inside me

_Il y a deux filles en moi_

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**Wow… this was so far my longest oneshot. It was also my first Shinichi/Ran one… so reviews are very welcome.**


	5. O tradition!

**Author's note: The only thing I own is the way I use what's not mine. Yeah, right.**

**Warning: I know, it's a cliché…**

**------**

Kudo had THE smirk again.

It wasn't the smirk he gave criminals when denouncing them publicly after they had committed a murder involving beheading, stabbing to death and arsenic poisoning. Nor was it the smirk he usually sported that showed his unquestionable superiority over human kind in general – nor even the smirk he reserved for Neechan when he was teasing her. No, it was THE smirk he wore every time he'd done something very, very nasty and he was very, very proud of it.

So far, nothing unusual.

Problem was, Neechan bore the same smirk, which was _not _normal.

Okay, it was official: Heiji was freaking out.

"Heiji?" Kazuha asked beside him, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he said, and kept searching that _thing_ he had missed, that _thing_ that amused them so much. At first sight, everything seemed normal – even if the room was a shiny red and green – the Christmas tree, the lights, the Santa decorations looked just like they did at his own place… or, for that matter, at Kazuha's.

Not that he'd gone and checked out, of course.

"Don't try, Hattori," Kudo said as the Osakan tantei lifted a pile of – no wonder – Sherlock Holmes books. "It's above."

Above.

Grammatical preposition, used before nouns or groups or nouns, expressing a vertically higher degree to a given level.

_O-_kay…

"This guy can be so dense at times…" he heard Kudo mutter.

"Heiji…" Kazuha said in a tiny voice. She was pointing, he remarked, at above.

The ceiling. Or rather, what was hanging from it.

"_What the HELL is that?"_

"Mistletoe," Kudo deadpanned.

"_And what the HELL is it doing here?"_

It really was a wonder Heiji was so brilliant a detective when he could be _so _clueless about certain matters.

Tradition, a little voice in his head – so vivid he nearly turned to check if there wasn't someone there, feeding him the lines – reminded him.

Well, tradition could go and… no, maybe not.

He looked over at Kazuha, who shot quick, short glances at him, daring not lift her gaze at his face, as if… shy.

Shy? Kazuha? There was something wrong.

Apart from the fact, or course, that she was stunningly beautiful tonight – and where was that from – and he had tried to avoid seeing it since he'd picked her up and drove them here – and what kind of lipstick was she wearing? It made her lips red, and shiny, and… appealing…

Appealing? Who'd just thought that? Cause it couldn't be him, could it?

…

Nah.

But what if…

No. No,_ never._

Never?

And while his mind was engaged in this energetic, interesting, though one-voiced conversation, his face actually _bent_ towards hers in a slow motion that would have nicely matched some kind of soap opera. Still in that fluid, one-move-every-ten-seconds way he saw Kazuha's eyes close, and even felt his own eyelids flutter as their breaths slooowly mingled…

Their mouths crashing, however, was not exactly of the romantic kind.

Heiji's mind had imploded long ago, but Kazuha's actually kept in control for a few more seconds–

Her first thought went, 'Oh my god, I'm kissing Heiji.'

Her second was sorta the same, only with a slight frown.

Her third went, 'OH MY GOD, I'M KISSING HEIJI!"

After that, for about… quite a while, her mind went blank too, more or less.

Her body, however, decided that sliding her arms around his neck, hooking them there in a tight hold, then kissing back, sounded quite a nice idea.

A very nice idea, indeed.

After one or two forevers, their kiss began to turn rather frenchie – and for their first, too! applause demanded – not that it felt anything disagreeable, but air was something they unfortunately couldn't do without.

Kudo and Neechan? Jeez, they were forgotten. Another dimension altogether – a one where Kissing Each Other was _not _the only thing that mattered.

"…Okay," Heiji said after taking his breath back, though still staring deep in Kazuha's eyes. "I think I'll do that again."

Kazuha ran her fingers in his hair, tilting his head down so that their faces were only a mere -kiss- away. "Suits me fine."

Forever really was a very short time.

On some occasions.

------

Sooo…, this was pointless. I kinda came out with last night, typed it in this morning, and here goes. It's random fluff, okay, so sue me.


	6. Beginning

**Author's note: Right. This is a tad different than what I've written before. It's one of my first poems – in English, that is – the second, actually. It's about Kaito and Aoko's meeting, of course – I'm going **_**nuts**_** because of this couple. So, well, all of this to say I'll hope you'll like it, hope you'll review… this is a peculiar case.**

------

Beginning

------

It's the beginning of the beginning

For those two hearts that bound to love

Not a clue of what may be the ending

In the fluttering flight of a dove.

Not a clue of future secrets and future cries

Throughout future and sleepless nights

For the moment what before them lies

Is laughter, and joy, and delights.

Whatever the ending may be

Of this crumpled rose and bells singings

A fool's the one who does not see

The tenderest of beginnings.

------

This was written on one evening

Reading Dorothy Parker's poetry

One verse was due in the morning

But, awaking, I was rather sleepy.

------

**Hum… (looks shyly) sooo… what do you think? Should I re-write it? Or leave I as it is? No flames please, I wish for critics. Constructive ones, that could help me improve my writing in the future.**


	7. Of the peculiar aspects of friendship

**Author's note: I'm baaaack! **

**(cough cough) Sorry for that. This is going to be slightly different… I guess… Well, read on and you'll see. Usual disclaimers and so on. (I'm getting tired of this.)**

**-------**

Of the peculiars aspects of friendship

-------

Do you know the story of Peter Pan?

In my native country, it was already a well-known novel before it was taken to the movies and turned into a world-famous picture. It's the story of a little boy living in a fantastic country beyond the reach of the grown-ups. A little boy who fights murderous enemies, risks his life for his friends and laughs at the danger's face.

A little boy who doesn't want to grow up.

Sometimes he reminds me of him. I know I could find other references – such as Arsene Lupin – but Peter Pan struck me when I first met him. Sounds weird, I know. I guess only those who know him well would understand such a statement. _I_ wouldn't have understood it myself, only a few months back, when I arrived here and collapsed with him.

Friends? No, we're not _friends._ Friends wouldn't be eagerly trying to arrest one another – or to make him ridiculous – and find all this perfectly natural. And that's exactly what we're doing.

Yet there's an aspect of our relationship which isn't quite rivalry. I don't really know how to put this, but I don't think Kuroba considers me as an _enemy._ As a bossy, bothering, keep-him-in-line elder brother, rather – oh, yes, I know what he's been saying about me.

He's a strange boy. There's no other word. That's what anybody who meets him for the first time thinks immediately – and even after months of acquaintance like ours, I till think so. Try to understand him is what I did this last year, and, so far, I failed – but that he's simply hard to make out is an understatement. If he stayed still in the same place for only a few minutes, maybe someone'd get a chance to catch him – but he's an elusive wind, always on the move, never where he's expected, no, where he's supposed to be.

In class, where he's supposed to sit and slump into endless boredom, he's always jumping from table to table, stomping a few backs and heads in the process, changing his classmates into rabbits or snakes or antelopes and finally getting chased by Aoko and Aoko's mop, though answering the teacher's questions in the meantime. He's a showman, if anything. And I haven't talked about his heists yet.

… on reflection, I won't talk about it _at all._ Policemen aren't the only ones he's been fooling and dying in red or blue or… whatever. He's supposed to the one chased, and we the chasing, but he succeeds in turning it the other way around, like he does all the time with everything.

After one year of being in close contact with him, I can say without much doubt that he's not doing all this just for the fun. He's got to have a reason, and, knowing him, it very probably is a _good _reason – although I suspect him to enjoy his night heists much more than a common robber would. _He_ is not the common robber, not at all – he cares too much about other people's life and, curiously, about his own integrity. He can't resist fooling for the task force every time he collapses with them and dying their head blue with a total ignorance of what scruples are, but if any of them were in grave danger he'd fly and save him without an iota of hesitation.

He's a thief just like I'm a detective – his body, his mind, his soul are those of a thief. It's in his genes, it's in his blood – he'll be a thief until he dies, no matter what he steals. Even in a world where everything may shatter around him any moment, he'll go on with his funny life, and if comes the moment when he must back out, he'll walk away with his hands in his pockets, whistling softly to himself.

If he ever gets caught – and if such thing happens I hope to be at the bottom of it – I suppose that even in prison he'll make a show of himself and will borrow the magistrate's pocket watch about thirty times a day.

He's got an aim no one is aware of, he obeys to rules he, and he only made up – but he respects life most of all. I suppose it's because he knows how much it can hurt.

His own existence is a walking paradox, but he acts as if it was absolutely natural. He never presents himself entirely, only facets of his being. Never the same, never at the same time. He won't show the cards he's holding, nor the expressions passing on his face – or maybe he does, and we just don't see it.

I always wonder, when I look deep in these blue eyes of his, who I am watching now. Because he wears masks. One, two, a hundred of them – one after the other, level beneath level – and they all exist, they all are him, he is them all. He's one Kuroba Kaito, normal high school student, and he's a young man with restless fingers and hyper-activated magician skills – he's that guy madly in love with his childhood friend Nakamori Aoko, and he's the arrogant, ever-confident, playing-with-death gentleman thief.

He turns to me, grins at me and pulls a pigeon out of my hair – maybe that's a mask, maybe that's a veil of smugness drawn on his grievance and secret scars – and maybe that's the real thing, that's the real him.

He lives in illusions. He lives in a world where magic tricks, broken mirrors, hidden traps, phantoms at night really _mean_ something, something utterly different from logic and rational thought, something that's got to do with feelings and passions, with love and hate and pain and laughter. A world where roses bloom in an instant, where magicians disappear in a gust of smoke, where jewels vanish all by themselves, where, in the dead of the night, thieves walk in the air and the moon shines above it all, like an uncatchable gem.

He's unreachable. Time, night, the police, myself or detectives like me – all of them, all of us tried but never succeeded in pinning him down. He won't let himself be caught, he'll always escape with a pirouette and a mocking laugh.

But I did discover who he is – I _know_ who he is, and yet he stays by me, still he laughs at me with that fearless smile that only belongs to him. As if _I_ was trustworthy.

Had I found myself thinking this only one year ago, I would've shrugged and erased the thought from my head. It's amazing how much you can change because of one person. Because you ask him a question, and he leaves it unanswered – because he laughs, turns you upside down and asks you to answer it yourself.

I actually think there's only one person who can get at him. She will, one day, I have no doubt – when they'll abandon the act they play to each other and finally see themselves as the grown-ups they have become. Koizumi and I have been having a bet about that – the pool's up to three million by now.

When _she_ does, then maybe we'll see him for what he truly is, maybe we'll see the masks and the truth, if there are any. Maybe, then, I'll get the answer to my question.

-----

**The 'borrow the magistrate's pocket watch' part is relevant to Maurice Leblanc's 'Arsène Lupin en prison'. This title is to my mind the best ever for the first book of a series of novels starring a world-famous, uncatchable thief. Lupin has always been, and still is, one of my favourite fictional characters, and this peculiar novel has got everything in it, which to my mind can qualify a Truly Good Book. (This is not advertisement. It's merely an account of my own reading, 'cause it'd be really sad for those of you who haven't yet read it to miss it.)**


	8. Sakura tree

**Author's note: This is one of my rare Heiji/Kazuha fics so please don't be too harsh in reading it…**

**As always, I don't own the blah blah blah – I do own the song (well, yes I wrote it). I really wanted this to be a songfic but I couldn't find any song that matched, so I watched movie 7 and this came out. It's not wonderful but I think it expresses their feelings well. As the fic's point of view is Heiji's, I made the song on Heiji's side, too.**

**-------**

Sakura tree

------

Kazuha looked up through the car window. It was dark outside, and grey clouds were strolling heavily about over the blackish sky. From her lying position upon the backseats, she could watch it very well, a night sight in a rectangular frame, blurring along as the car rushed on the road from Osaka to Kyoto.

Kyoto… last time she'd gone there it was with Heiji. She was worried about him because of his first love… he'd said he'd met that girl again on that trip…

She sighed, and turned her face into the blanket Shizuka-san had probably covered her up with when she was asleep. She could see her on the passenger's seat, next to her husband driving. Heiji's parents. Who hadn't seen him in one year and had proposed she could accompany them over to Kyoto.

She yet didn't know whether she would see him or not. She knew they wanted to stop at Sannou temple before driving over to his university, and she thought about staying there for the day, where they would pick her up on the way back. Meeting with Heiji after years of separation would be difficult and painful on both sides. He probably had a girlfriend by now. He didn't want to remember his childhood friend.

It must be very late at night. A snag in the rolling of the car had awakened her in mid-sleep, but she was dozing off again. The moon, through the window, got out from behind a cloud and shimmered its way to her window, sailing white, milky across her blanket and over her face.

She wanted to see him. She didn't. She did. She didn't. Why did she have to make a choice? Why had their relationship ended that way?

They could still meet as friends, certainly. Even if she had never been able to forget him, she could play the bossy elder sister watching over him like she had always done. It wouldn't pain her much more than it had always done…

She closed her eyes. The moonlight was a tad too strong, reflected by the shining glass. Kyoto was only a few hours' drive away, in the morning. She would stay over at temple Sannou – she wouldn't go and see Heiji. She would enjoy the beauty of a troubleless, ever-peaceful place such as that, were everything was always the same and would always be… In this May month, the sakura trees would be very pink, and the air blooming with cherry blossoms…

-

_The real first time that I met you_

_It was the beginning of May._

_I remember as yesterday_

_The easy charm of your chirping_

_Whilst you were childishly playing;_

_Your song spoke of nothing but glee._

_And there I fell in love for you,_

_Right under the sakura tree._

_-_

Nothing, nothing, _nothing _had changed. Nothing. The trees and the blossoms and the pinkness and – _nothing­_ – they had just remained the same way as ever, like they had been fifteen years before and like they were now – and probably like they would always be. The temporal continuum was eluding this place in an exasperating way.

Maybe it was the period of the year that created such an impression to his eyes, forced such an emotion in his heart. His too-strained mind, once logical, was trying to get back to the old days. But, really, why did he have to come back in May? With the cherry blossoms floating lightly alllll over the place, one couldn't even think. The pinkness of the air and surroundings was unbearable.

Reminded him of too many nasty memories.

"Hattori!" Aizama's shouted way behind, searching for him.

He hurried on, anxious to make his getaway. Something like a curse must have escaped him, under his breath. Ever since that – girl (but was she really? or some kind of peculiar, slimy, bug-eyed monster? his imagination was outwitting him) had decided he was her would-be lover, she stuck to him like a leech. God, he hated those rich daughters who thought they could go and by other people's feelings as well as other people's properties. And there were an _awful _lot of them at the university he'd gone studying to. Aizawa was probably the worst of them all. He was lucky he'd succeeded in shaking her off today.

Her footsteps sounded closer. He spotted with relief the small sanctuary where he'd been playing fifteen years before – damn, that seemed both yesterday and an eternity ago. He made a dash for it; once inside, closed the front door carefully, and himself in the darkness. There, at least, she wouldn't find him. Entering it, he'd entered his own memories – he was physically gone from the exterior world now.

The only light came in through the window opposite, near the other, smaller door. As he advanced toward it, he noticed that no one had fixed it since he'd broken one of the bars when seven. He almost felt like that little boy again. He smiled sadly for himself.

_There's really no way I'll ever…_

He heard her before he saw her.

-

_Childhood was a rain of falling stars_

_One never-ending argument_

_Leaving nothing behind but scars._

_Lost went the days of amusement_

_Have we parted or did we flee?_

_The journey that begun was done_

_May had ended, and I was gone_

_Away from the sakura tree_

_-_

"_Marutake Ebisu Ni Ochi Oike…"_

And it was her voice, unmistakably enough – a bit changed by the years but hers nevertheless, and he knew instantly she would be standing under the sakura tree, wearing a yukata and make-up, playing with a small ball.

Back in time. Yes, definitely.

He grabbed shakingly at the wooden, broken bar – and there she was. She wasn't playing with a ball, but leaning against the tree, surrounded by its heavy, rosy branches. True, she was wearing a yukata of red – he couldn't quite see her hair but it must be the usual ponytail – and her lips were playfully singing that tune from long ago.

"_Yome-san Rokakku Take Nishiki…"_

She still made that little mistake – it was _Ane-san_, not _Yome-san_. He used to tease her about it, but now it only made him want to cry. What was she doing in Kyoto? Why here, of all places, did they have to meet again? She had probably moved on through those long years of separation. Of course it would be awkward for her to see him again – and she would, if she only lifted up her eyes. The only idea of her looking up and seeing him – _him – _rather, his face, through the square frame of the window, that was just impossible. He would just die rather than being faced with such a situation.

"_Shi aya bu Take Matsu Man Gojyou…"_

His right hand grasped at the bar while the other instinctively fumbled for the door's locket. Then…

Then he remembered how they had parted – the cries and the shouts on both sides. He couldn't quite remember, now, what it had been all about – anyway it had simply been absurd. It had been a stupid argument, like _always_; only a bit harsher than others – he'd been mad at her and she'd shouted at him and he'd left for Kyoto without another word.

Since then, not a call, not a card had been sent or received by either of them. It just as though the 'best friend' figure had never existed…

"_Setta Chara Chara Uonotana…"_

His hand was frozen on the locket.

She was only – only – a few yards away, so close… but unattainable through months, years, of silence and separation.

And she kept singing that childish tune – that song which had brought her to him, and, fifteen years away, parted them desperately far-away.

"_Rokujyou Kijyou toorisugi…"_

So what was he supposed to do? Go away; go out of her life like he had five years before, never to come back? Give up years of childhood, friendship, and love? After that they wouldn't meet again. It would be his last chance to make up for lost time.

Only then, as he balanced, he noticed she was crying – real, large tears the sakura blossoms had been hiding up to then.

"_Hachijyou Koere–"_

"Hattori-kun!"

"CRAP!"

Before he was aware of it himself, he had opened the door, jerked out, and locked it closely.

The song had stopped.

-

_Now I keep walking in winter_

_And I keep waking up at night_

_Searching your presence beside me_

_But I can never find you there._

_And life goes on, I wouldn't dare_

_Breaking its course into the light,_

_Until I drift into slumber_

_Dreaming of a sakura tree._

_-_

"H-Heiji?"

Only to hear his name, whispered unbelievingly by her shaking voice, was painful. He still could run away, he reminded himself, and then smiled at the foolishness of the idea.

He could imagine her hastily drying her tears while he turned slowly round. Then he lifted his gaze and their eyes met for the first time in five years.

She was closer now and she could see that she was more beautiful than he'd ever remembered her to be. Her hair – that casual ponytail carelessly loosing on her shoulders! – was longer, its brown-dark shade standing out on her red yukata. She was wearing getas and make-up which made her a bit older but upon the whole she was – that thought was at least warmingly reassuring – Kazuha, Kazuha, Kazuha.

She was _staring_ at him and she knew it – but she simply couldn't bring her eyes away from him. He'd shown-up, ghost-like, when she was thinking most about him and, and his tall, tanned self hadn't changed much in five years – maybe a bit broader around the shoulders. The old, stupid cap of his was still planted on his head, and she could even see, in the crumpled collar of his shirt, the omamori she'd given him – oh god, he'd kept it.

It had to be some kind of dream.

"Hattori-kun!" a high-pitched voice cried again. Kazuha felt a pinch to her heart. A girl. He had a girl.

He winced, finally leaving her eyes. He breathed out a long, deep sigh, not meeting her gaze again.

"Kazuha… I…"

He shook his head with a bitter chuckle. "This is stupid. I'd better go."

He turned on his heels to leave, thinking all over again, "_Stupid, stupid, stupid…"_

"Heiji, wait!" He'd had barely time to breath that her arms encircled his chest, and he felt her forehead rest against his back.

"Kazu…"

"Heiji, I wanted to know… that girl… that girl who was your first love… do you… do you love her still?"

His eyes widened. He could hear – feel – the quick pounding of her heart against his jacket, matching his own.

"Yes, I do," he said heartily, hoping she would understand the heat of his voice the way he meant it.

Obviously she didn't.

"I see…" Her arms loosened from around his chest and she began to back away, "I see…"

He whirled around and grabbed her wrist. "Ahou!"

And that incredible epithet he hadn't ever given anybody else was immediately followed by his lips leaning on hers. Well, he'd burned his boats.

She gasped and tried to pull away, but he grasped her arms and pressed her against him. He didn't go pretty far, however, just far enough to give her an account of his feelings. When he released her, she stared at him with large, unbelieving green eyes, without even attempting to close her lips. Heiji stared back, not shameful in the least, and actually eager to repeat the experience, to make her _understand_…

"Heiji…" she stammered before her voice broke down and she could but gaze up at him.

He smiled sadly at her. "Ahou," he said again, more softly this time. He tilted her head up, leaning in for another kiss.

"Hattori-kun?" Aïzawa called for him, much closer. They both jerked and looked sideways at her as she stared suspiciously at the ever-so-close couple. "What are you doing? Who's that?"

Heiji sighed inwardly – he _had_ changed over the last years, as he hadn't got a fit at the girl's offensive, aggressive tone – but he saw nothing of Aïzawa's next look 'cause he closed his eyes whilst he kissed Kazuha for the second time. He hugged his childhood friend in a tighter embrace then, gently stroking her cheek and neck. Instead of being completely frigid like she had been the first time over, he felt her tentatively kiss back, grasp onto his shoulders and lean a few inches against him.

If they broke, it was only for air.

Heiji looked back at one extremely puzzled Aïzawa, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

"She's my childhood friend," he said. "And, incidentally, my first – and only – love."

He heard Kazuha gasp, but Aïzawa's was louder. A scandalized expression spread over her painted face, and she took over the act of the betrayed one.

"WHAT? You can't," she ordered.

Heiji raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Why not?"

"Because…" she snapped, and then cut off.

"Because?" he repeated sweetly.

"Because…" her look went near that of panic.

She was lost at words now, and Heiji politely and completely stopped paying attention to her. It was more interesting to cup Kazuha's chin and begin to plant small, butterfly kisses on her mouth. She felt comfortable enough to open her lips to him, holding on his shoulders in a way that left no doubt on her feelings.

-

_Memories arise from those summers_

_Voices of those who used to say_

_That I loved you, and you loved me_

_Feelings that we refused to see._

_Then came the time, quite far-away_

_When night should close onto the day_

_Memories are May's fading flowers_

_Falling from a sakura tree_

_-_

He kissed every inch of skin he could reach from their position – cheeks, eyes, jaw, neck. The idea that they were in a temple didn't even occur to him. He had simply missed her so much, her perfume, the soft contact of her hair against his face, everything. How on earth had he succeeded to live on five years without even touching her?

Kazuha was almost panting when he let go. Her wide, vivid eyes stared up at him without the slightest glance at Aïzawa – who was probably long gone stomping by now.

"Let me tell you a story," Heiji said softly. "The story of a… let's see… seven-years-old kid who was playing in this very temple."

"_What?_"

"He was playing, yes, when he hit his head and fell over, unconscious."

"What are you talking ab–"

"Another child's voice awoke him. It was a girl's voice, and it was singing. So he scrambled up to the window – this window," he pointed at the broken bar, "and he saw a little girl singing and playing with a ball. She was wearing a yukata, getas, and make-up, all of which caused her to look older. And he fell in love with her."

Kazuha's eyes widened with comprehension. "This little boy…"

"… was fairly stupid," Heiji said in a low, regretful voice, "and he didn't even realize that it had been his childhood friend, the one who had always been with him… and always was ever since…" he gently stroke her cheek, "'Zuha…"

"And when did you understand she was me?" Kazuha asked in a soft voice that should have startled him if he hadn't been in dreamland – Kazuha was anything but soft.

"Ah, that was five years ago, after he went to Kyoto for the second time. Remember when you told me in the railway station about how friends of yours had helped you to dress and you came to find me in temple Sannou? When, then, I understood that I had finally met my first love again. After looking for her everywhere around, she was just by my side. I guess I even said so."

"You did, and when I asked you said you'd tell me in another thousand years," Kazuha said veeery slooowly.

Of course, Hattori still was in a world where love is a rosy marshmallow and pigs are flying around wearing Kaito Kid's monocle, so he didn't see anything. If he had, he might have been able to avoid.

Then there was a loud CRASH! and for the second time in his life Heiji found himself lying on temple Sannou's ground.

Okay, he thought, blinking nervously at the small pigs who now whirled twittering round his head, Kazuha's lips felt wonderful, but when she hit she hit _hard._ Probably as hard as Neechan. He'd have to ask Ku–

"Heiji!" Oops, here came the Angel of Doom again. Now, he thought also, I'm in trouble. In big trou–

And why was he lying there like a freaking idiot!

-

_Now I am back, though years be past_

_In the temple where we first met._

_Here time has stopped, the hours last_

_In an eternal month of May._

_Turn the corner, this is the day_

_You will find me waiting for thee_

_I shall be watching the sun set_

_Right under the sakura tree_

_-_

She squared her fists on her hips and glowered down at him. "Sooo…" he said. "You mean that all that time – allll that time – you knew everything and you left me worry about it… left me jealous of myself… is that it?"

Heiji began to sweatdrop. "If I had told you, would you have believed me?" he asked casually, hoping to calm her in some way.

Her glare turned to pure iceberg.

"Then…" she said. "Five years ago, you charged all the sins of the world on my back, _and _left without a word of explanation… and when we -finally- meet again you don't leave me a second and you kiss me–"

"Don't put all the blame on me!" Heiji protested. "You had your part in the argue–"

"Ahou! Don't even deny!"

"You're the ahou! I can't believe you didn't even call me in five years' time!"

"Hey, you didn't call me either, did you?"

"Who'd want to call a silly, ill-looking, bossy ahou?"

"Didn't you just kiss the bossy as if your life depended on it?" she asked matter-of-factly.

They then blinked at each other, unbelieving looks stamped on their faces – until Kazuha's legs decided they wouldn't carry her anymore, 'cause those two really needed a push, and she suddenly – quite abruptly too – found herself at the same height level as Heiji's eyes.

Some more blinking later–

-

_Stop. Cut. Too fluffy. You have no idea what the first version of this was like, and will never want to know. It's horrible._

_-_

Heizo and Shizuka Hattori were worried. Kazuha had left them in the sanctuary about an hour before, and she still wasn't back. And she was so sad lately…

Lately… no. Those last five years actually.

They turned round the different sanctuaries, looking for a red yukata between the pinkness of the trees. But as they reached one of the temple's greatest sakura trees, they stopped at the sight of the two young adults – one ponytailed girl and one dark-skinned boy – sitting hand in hand at the feet of it and animatedly talking.

Well, well, well, they thought, smilingly. It seemed that Heiji was back home after all.

-

**So, really, you have no idea. I wrote the fluffy… stuff on a very depressing evening, and when I reread it the next morning it depressed me even more. So I cut it short and simply jumped the part, since I had no idea of how to end it any other way and anyways it was bothering me – only adding the part about Heizo and Shizuka. The other ended with something like the setting sun and Wagner music – oh heck no.**


	9. Data base

**Author's note****: Part one of a story. Can be considered as an oneshot – that is, until found something that looks like a sequel. Don't own anything, only telegraphic style (oh, great, where did **_**that**_** come from…?)**

**-**

ERROR. ERROR. ERROR.

The message blinked wryly three times over in a dazzling glimpse, then the screen went blank.

Instead of gritting his teeth and punching on the desk like _normal_ people would undoubtedly have, the young man sitting at the computer grinned broadly and launched the system yet again. Electronic hacking wasn't a rare thing in his life – actually, with his kind of job, being friendly with computer programs and security systems was nothing less than a necessity.

But this one was tougher than anything thing he'd ever met – it was his fourth try and he hadn't even gone as far as the data base. The woman who'd created this was a genius – though not as much as himself – and she wasn't older than he was.

Well… mentally speaking. For now.

No wonder. At eighteen, she'd been working as a scientific researcher and had created a poison-like drug, which had in the meantime shrunk three teenagers to their ten-years younger form, including herself.

This thought reminded him of the present matter. Before he plunged again in the well of numbers, data and equations that appeared on the screen, however, he rocked on his chair's back legs and considered the problem.

He'd used a direct approach the two first times, taking advantage of the element of surprise, then tried to come from underneath the two second, and failed every time. He felt very much like he was lost in a labyrinth. The program was building up walls and dead-ends wherever he went, crossing his path with traps and tricks, trying to fool him with illusions and coverscreens. Trying, 'cause he was too familiar with that kind of thing not to be able to avoid them easily. But his experience couldn't bring him through walls, in spite of everything the newspapers had ever told about him. The computer he was attempting to connect to was elapsing his grip when he thought he'd caught it, as though it foresaw his actions before they actually came…

That was an interesting idea. If that was the actual concept which then security program was built on, then it was all a matter of reflection and logic – a chain reaction tracing every possibility of every move. It must have taken months too come up with such a perfect system. Consequently, it would also take months to destroy it, piece by piece… unless… unless…

Unless he tried it all at the same time, saving each file every ten… no, eight seconds to be perfectly safe. It would take a damn lot of energy and if he slipped once, or lost his concentration, it would be all for nothing but there seemed to be no other way around – no other failure in the protection – and unfortunately months weren't his to spare.

With this aim as a way to keep on the business – his head was spinning wearily – he set back to work.

One hour later the computer's screen was filled with dozens of windows. As he saved them all, he imperceptibly relaxed against his chair. It had taken him more time than he thought, but he'd fed the other program with a nice amount of different, opposite indications. It would take it a little while to digest them all, then, technically, it would either turn itself off for protection or implode – so it was only a matter of minutes.

He leant slightly backwards, stretched his stiff body – he'd kept the same crumpled, quasi-crouching position for _hours_ – and took a brisk stroll around the room, wincing painfully as blood flew on a fast race in his long-still legs. Slumping back in the chair with a yawn, he glanced over at the newspapers that, on the bed, related her disappearance, though he knew all of them by heart. These last twenty-four hours he'd been going through them without a moment of rest, locked up in his room, collecting data about when, where, how.

He'd reached a conclusion rather quickly, but the fact that she'd disappeared entirely led him to think – with relief – someone _else_ had picked her up. Given that it had all happened in Beika, it was very probably_ them_. They would have heard about it on the news, got to the same conclusion as he had, and they certainly wouldn't have left her in such a state, outside, alone. Too dangerous.

A sudden change on the screen made him start, and he immediately switched from his concerned and tired self to the resolute, on-the-move one, his body alert with expectation. The windows, now their purpose was fulfilled, were deleting themselves at a fast pace, blurred with white and rapidly blinking grey. It took them a nice little eternity to be completely erased, then the screen gave a short flash and was invaded by green, fluorescent numbers typing themselves in just as quickly.

A password. He ought to have foreseen that, of course. The program constructor had probably imagined the system's obliteration and therefore had planned this emergency leftover as a last security check.

He hurriedly began to type, aware that time was probably running short; the most alarming thought was that he had no idea how much. Small muscles twitching at the corners of his mouth showed his irritation with himself – he'd had about twenty minutes of wait and he'd only slumped back in the state of worry and despair he'd been in after first hearing the news, instead of _thinking_ about what could come next.

He was very close to the end now – very, very close. A few more minutes, if he proceeded well, and he would be done. The solution was right in front of him, within his reach, he would get at it in a moment – in a mom…

The screen blinked twice and the symbols appearing on it rapidly changed. The young man muttered a curse under his breath and examined the page at full speed.

A trap. Rather difficult to spot out, too. She had foreseen everyone of his moves – sounded a little paranoiac but hey, she was in danger of death wasn't she – and had provided for all contingencies.

A trap. Here, of all places… it wasn't quite natural, though. A virus, a defect of the kind would have been more suitable. A trap… it certainly wasn't the right time…

What if it actually wasn't one…

A shield, a smokescreen. He knew that by heart, didn't he?

He typed on. Time was definitely running loose – if he was calculating the probabilities right he had about fifteen seconds left, twenty at the very best.

It worked… inwardly, he let out a sigh of relief. If he'd guessed wrong he'd be back at the beginning. So it wasn't a trap after all, only a nasty trick. Thank god he was actually familiar with them. Anyone else would have trusted the façade, tried to get out of it, and run out of time. If – all modesty put aside – he didn't have an IQ of 200, he would be done with.

Ten seconds left – and the numbers and letters and symbols were scrolling more and more quickly.

Shit, shit, _shit_ – it was trying to escape. Worse, it was managing to. He purchased it eagerly, determined not to leave it any exit way. And as the seconds were carrying on, the chase unrolled itself at increasing speed, flash after flash, then–

Everything stopped and he had an evil grin – he'd made it at last. With a strong feeling of self-satisfaction, he double-clicked on the toolbar, widening the window and revealing the entire contains of the other computer.

He scanned through the entries rapidly – entering the sanctuary had taken him longer than he thought and primary school would be over soon. If she connected to her program whilst he still was in it, he would be very lucky if he slipped out without being identified.

The 'diary' entry was the most appealing – the 'cases' one was interesting, but it wasn't relevant to the present matter. He promised himself to print a copy of it before leaving, if he had any time left.

Obviously she'd been writing down every important event of every day – her style was precise and formal, though not lacking in a certain sense of humour – black humour of course – and dry irony. He flipped through the weeks, finally stopping to two days before, when _she_ had vanished.

As predicted, they'd been very interested in the case. Only three hours after the subject was first tackled, a new paragraph announced that they'd taken in a little girl whom they'd found unconscious in Beika streets.

The following description was given wit a sumptuous detachment, exactly as it would've been written in some kind of police report.

-

'_-Gender: Female._

_Age: Supposedly around seven or eight._

_Physical description: Slender, medium size, blue eyes, black wild hair. Was found unconscious and, so far, still unconscious._

_Location: Beika streets, in a dead end. Was lying in clothes too big for her, which would have fitted a seventeen or eighteen-years-old._

_Personal objects: A handbag, containing papers, cash, handkerchief, book, folded newspaper, agenda, wrapped present (notice saying, 'Happy Birthday you baka!') In pockets, cell phone, locked, and keys._

_Time and hour of the location: June 21st, 17.43 pm.'_

_-_

At this point the young man's jaw clenched, and he kept still for a few moments, staring hard at the birthday notice. The black letters were shining lightly on the plain, white background, instead of the red wrapping paper where the message had originally been written, and where he should have read it – then they blinked rapidly as the screen flickered for a fraction of second.

Crap – the conceptor was home. Cursing himself for his distracting sentimentalism, he made the text scroll down again – he only had a few minutes, maybe a few seconds if she was particularly alert today, before she would notice he was hacking her data base, and he would need some time for his getaway.

The end of the text was a bit more objective than the beginning. To improper and unprepared ears, however, it would have sounded simply weirder.

-

'_Current anomalies: Unconsciousness to that length is not an appropriate factor to APTX 4869 – blood tests may be needed in case. If the drug's contains and/or bases have been modified, side effects might be developed.'_

_-_

The screen flickered again, but the young man was too worried to take great care of it.

_Side effects might be developed…_ this phrase had a gloomy way of unrolling itself which he didn't like the sound of. If anything – _anything more_ had happened – no, happened to her, he would probably go insane.

But not now. Not before he'd found her.

The screen actually faded – for a very short period of time really, only longer than the two first – and he hurriedly went on. The sooner he was certain of himself – which he almost was, he only needed controllable evidence – the sooner he'd been able to go and see her.

And there it was, controllable evidence, only a few lines below–

-

'_Anomalies on location: None, save the inexplicable presence of a mop beside her. Whether she has tried to hit her aggressors with it is yet to decide.'_

_-_

The screen gave two short, dazzling flashes, blurred, then plummeted into a total blank; but the grin of the wild-haired young man showed enough of his satisfaction – he'd gotten what he wanted. For the first time in hours, he relaxed completely, his body which, a moment ago, was tense in concern and alert, slumping back into his chair. In one extremely tired gesture – exhaustion now felt like quite a nagging sensation in his mind and limbs – he switched the computer off and swirled around on his chair, grinning madly at the ceiling and feeling at last entirely, utterly relieved.

"Finally," he said, and as he stretched gladly an unexpected pigeon burst out from nowhere and went to perch itself on the monocle that laid on the desk, "I've finally found you out… Aoko."

-

**So, yes, he's Kaito, yes, Aoko's been shrunk, and yes, this will stay as a oneshot as long as I haven't had any better ideas for a sequel than the few cliché-like ones that already entered my head. That is, I've got a few scenes in mind, but how to make them fit and not look like **_**another**_** let's-defeat-the-B.O-together fic, is a problem I still got to deal with. Any ideas? Let me know of your comments… meaning **_**review.**_


	10. Belonging in the city of light

**Author's note: I do not own Detective Conan, nor Magic Kaito. All purposes for this fan fiction are not commercial and will not result in a fnmefznd (exasperated author rolls her eyes to the ceiling, chomps in a chocolate bar and goes on typing).**

**-**

Belonging (in the city of light)

-

On a cool, light-blue morning of October (A/N: crappy way to begin! sorry,) famous magician Takashi Hirota was disturbed in his training (well, it as more something like juggling with plates of apples and oranges and smacking pigeons out of thin air while vaguely listening to the news and fixing the coffee machine, which had got stuck yet _again_) by the phone. He let it ring a few dozen times, biting in a red apple and glaring at the small wires that intertwined themselves in the delicate pattern of the coffee engine, then the answering machine turned itself on.

A voice, which sounded vaguely familiar but that was probably only because it spoke in Japanese, echoed through the Parisian flat. The young magician fumbled blindly on the kitchen table for the remote, and switched the TV off at the moment the speaker began on the subject of a criminal org–

"Hirota-san? You do not know me…"

Oh, that was an interesting beginning. He let go of the coffee machine and turned his head to the phone. A small, red light was blinking on it.

"… I'm a journalist."

Arrrgh. He went back at the coffee machine.

"I saw your show yesterday night…"

"And I would like to have a few words with you," the magician murmured at the same time that the speaker – a woman, and still very young by the sound of her voice – uttered it.

"I know that you're a very busy person, but I should like to have a talk over some tricks of your show. I am familiar with magicians' business, and your work reminded me extremely of what the late Kuroba Touichi–"

A _clash._ The reluctant machine was left to its fate as the young magician threw his apple into the bin and, picking up another, approached the phone. He run his hand in his messy, dark hair, and listened more closely.

"–used to begin with. If you wish to contact me by suite of this call…"

Takashi picked up. "Yes? What must I do?"

There was a small gasp, then the voice came again, less deformed. "Are you Takashi Hirota-san?"

"Yes. Sorry, I was having a problem with my coffee machine."

A comprehensive pause. Troubles with coffee machines are universal.

"I've listened to your message. You're right, I'm quite a busy person – but I should be able to place a conversation with him in today's schedule. Are you already taken?"

"No, I'm quite free. What time would most suit you?"

"Would you mind dropping in around five 'o clock? I'll have got rid of any disturbers by then. You probably have my address, if you found my telephone number. Where did you, by the way?"

"Through your manager. Five 'o clock. I'll be there."

The magician smirked a little. She seemed to be a handy person. Her way of talking was slightly familiar too. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't." She marked a short pause. "My name's Nakamori. Nakamori Aoko."

This time the gasp was on his side; but so repressed, so rapidly chocked back, that the journalist, on the other end of the line, wasn't likely to have noticed anything. He pulled himself together enough to tell her good-bye, then put the phone down, dismayed.

-

She was straight on time – that was an improvement, as she had never been very punctual. He felt a pang to the heart as he opened his door to her; she had barely changed… her face was thinner, its previous childish curves having softened with time, and her long hair was carelessly brought up at the back of her head, black locks scattered all around on her shoulders. She was dressed, not with one of the smart, neatly cut suits women in her profession tend to wear, but in a blue shirt and black jeans; she looked a radiant twenty-three-years-old. All tomboyness was long gone by now.

He let her in, wondering if she may have recognised him. Well, of course not, he thought. She could have no idea who he was; if she did she wouldn't be here, talking to him, smiling at him – not after the last words of hate, the last look of disgust she had been giving him five years before.

The usual greetings and formal presentations were exchanged while he served tea. "I'm sorry," he said with an apologizing smile, "coffee couldn't be displayed tonight." He was careful to keep the slightly pompous tone he used for his shows; he had long learned to know that changing one's way of talking was often more effective than disguising one's voice.

"It's okay," she said lightly, laughingly. "I'm very fond of tea."

_I know_, he thought, while settling on the couch in front of her, pushing away the not-yet open newspaper that was laid on it. He waited for her to speak, which he always did with journalists – he hated it when they began talking of the weather or of something else altogether, when they were here to interview him. However, he was familiar enough with Aoko's ways to know she would go straight to the point.

After a few moments' silence, she slowly put her mug down, got out a notebook and pencil, and laid them on the table, smiling up at him.

"I went to your show yesterday night," she said.

"Really?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "And how did you like it?"

"I shouldn't be telling you that. I'm here to interview you, after all… _But_, your work deserves praise – so I won't compromise myself by telling that I liked it very much. It reminded me of…" there she stopped, looking thoughtful.

"… Kuroba Touichi, if I got your message OK," he said.

"Yes, in a way. Your show looks like him. Do you admire him?"

He bowed a straightforward bow. "He's my greater source of inspiration." He wasn't taking too much risk by telling that – his father was known all over the world and many other magicians he knew were following in Kuroba Touichi's footsteps. "But I daresay I have my own originality."

Surprisingly, she laughed. "Oh, you sure do," she said, "for instance, the name of your show."

He'd seen that one coming.

"'The Rose…' it's a very beautiful name. Its simplicity and elegance are reflections of the grace of every one of the tricks there displayed…" she laughed again. Her mirth was fresh and limpid, clear of all insinuations. "This is what I'll say in my critic. But if I could have the reason for which it was chosen, I'm certain our readers would appreciate."

She was leading it very well, reading between the lines of his words and his show. She opposed that with frankness and sincerity; her honesty he didn't think he deserved was rather painful. He felt like a criminal, hiding his identity to her for the second time in their lives.

"Well," he said slowly, "roses are very symbolic to me. They…" _remind me of you. _"… were the witnesses of my first kid tricks; they, in a way, taught me magic. The memories they hold are the reasons why I became a magician."

Maybe it was going a little too far to say that. She looked stricken, and indeed puzzled; her brow was furrowed, as though memories were coming back to her too. The nearest alarm clock thought it clever to choose that moment and ring – though they were no shining bells, its echoes seemed to backtrack time.

It was her who changed the topic, turning her eyes away from the clock and the large window that stood behind it. "One of your tricks," she said with a casual air, professionally taking up her notebook and pencil, "puzzled me exceedingly. That shrewdness with the mirror–"

Aoko was gone – he'd had her under his eyes for a moment – and Nakamori-san was back on track, job-accurate. The conversation went on professionally, asked questions and given answers about his show and his prospects. The young magician replied mechanically to her precise interrogations, enjoying less the discussion in itself than the simple fact of talking to her again. Being with her once more was something he'd only dared dream about. And meeting back with her voice, her perfume, her eyes, which seemed to welcome him back like the old, long-lost friends they were, was stirring emotions from such depths in him she had never suspected.

He was moved by the smallest gesture, that old habit of hers of curling her black locks around her index finger while she was talking… she noticed his gaze upon her hand and laid it on the table with a small smile.

"Silly habit of mine," she said with an apologetic shrug. She gathered her stuff, and Kaito realized that she was going to leave, that they may never meet again, that this could be the last time he saw her. And he thought, like an overflowing blow erasing every other idea in his mind, that he didn't want to, he couldn't let her go. He avidly caught her last gestures, her last words, her last smile, feeling that this sight would pursue him in his dreams if he didn't keep it for himself.

She was already standing on the doorstep, turning to say goodbye, when, without thinking, without even elaborating the sentence, he asked her to dinner.

She seemed surprised, and, at first, reluctant.

"Nothing extraordinary," he hastily added. "I know a very nice Italian restaurant only two streets away. It's a really agreeable place and the food's good."

She looked relieved – obviously she'd feared he'd take her in one expensive French restaurant.

"I should be looking forward to it, then," she said after they'd decided he'd go and fetch her at her hotel at eight on the next day. She smiled at him and was gone, and he was left to close the door on the deserted landing, and to wonder whether he should feel happy or not.

-

Neither of them dressed for the event. He was wearing casual clothes and herself appeared in rather a rush, entering the hotel through its entrance and hastily meeting him in the hall.

"I'm sorry," she panted, out of breath, "I was assisting a reunion, and it, er, lasted longer than I thought." She hoisted back her brown bag on her shoulder and gave him the kind of smile that was certain to make his heart race.

They went their way, indifferently talking about Paris and their common stay there. Aoko seemed very fond of it.

"One really feels that it's an old town," she was saying as they advanced in a large, brilliantly lit avenue. "The buildings and streets speak their age." She laughed. "And _I _am speaking like a journalist."

Kaito listened to her with amusement, marvelling in her glee and youth. After four years spent in his study training on tricks, and having conversations with few people but old managers and old magicians, it was refreshing to get back in one's time. Answering her felt natural and just, their discussion was the one they would have had if they'd never said goodbye. It was just wonderful to feel her, to talk to her without having too much to hide, to have her presence by his side – and yet fantastic that after five years they should walk here, in Paris, half a world away from where they had met and parted.

The restaurant was a small place in a nearest street, agreeable and warm. Kaito knew it well; he often ate here – and the steward, when he came to take their order, nodded wryly at Aoko and winked at him. Kaito smiled back. He felt more joyful than he'd been in years.

The food was delicious – more, he thought, than it ever was. Aoko had always liked Italian cooking. A few tables away, a couple were noisily talking of a criminal scandal involving people in Japan and the American FBI, but he paid no attention to it as he pointed, teasingly,

"I researched about you, you know. It seems that you're quite well known in Japan – that you're specialised in magician shows and receiving a visit from you is a rare treat. Should I feel honoured?" he asked with a slight, humorous bow of the head.

She laughed. "Nah – those are just gossip. I've been visiting every good magician on the point of becoming famous. I prefer them to those who already are – there are never anything new about them, while the new ones are bringing in some originality and inspiration."

"But you've always stayed in Japan, so far," he remarked. "Why did you bother yourself to travel all the way to Paris and see me?"

"Because I'm working on Japanese magicians – which you are, although you live in France."

He acknowledged this. After a few moments' silence, however, he asked what he knew the stranger to her life he was supposed to be would've wondered.

"You said you could see similitudes between my work and Kuroba Touichi's," he said. "But, if I'm not mistaken, you can't have been more than ten years old when he died. How come you know his tricks so well?"

She put her fork down and looked thoughtful.

"I knew his son."

"His… what?"

"His son. We were childhood friends." Her eyes trailed on her plate. He could see she was biting her lower lip.

The same couple as before kept talking of their scandal, louder and louder, it seemed; they often referred to a Kudo-something. Tantei-kun had probably solved yet another case, he thought with a shrug and an irritated glance at the disturbers.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "This seemed to recall nasty memories."

"Oh – no," she reassured him with a smile. "It's just that we haven't met in years. But–" she began twirling her spaghetti around her fork again. "–we met when we were seven or so, and I used to go at his place rather often. So I knew Kuroba Touichi rather well – even if he died some three years later, still I remember him and his tricks very well. He was an admirable man."

"Was it what decided you to become a journalist specialised in magic shows?" he asked in a light, teasing tone.

"Not really," she laughed. "As a matter of fact, Kaito," her voice faltered a little on the name but soon was firm again," was truly his father's son. He loved magic and he always was doing tricks. Everybody thought he would become a magician as a profession," she added pointedly.

Kaito knew he was supposed to ask the question, and he did, even if he dreaded the answer. "And were you and this young man having a particular relationship?" he asked, choosing his words carefully – he wasn't meant to know the answer –, a mocking smile he was far from really feeling pasted on his lips.

A deep blush immediately spread on her cheeks, astonishing him. Stunned, he watched her as she opened her mouth, closed it, looked sideways with evident confusion. _Could it be?_ he thought, dumbfounded. _Could it be that she still…_

"It's complicated. We were, er, dating. But something happened, and we… we broke up. That was five years ago." She looked with vague interest at her fork-full of spaghetti and went on, "He left Japan after that. I haven't seen him nor heard from him in…"

"Why didn't you call him?" Kaito asked, his mouth dry.

"What happened between us prevented me. He would probably would've pushed me away… moreover," she added with so sad a smile he nearly heard her heart crackled still more, "I thought I would be able to forget him. Silly of me…"

What Kaito felt then is too deep and strong for description. For years, he'd thought Aoko loathed him more than anyone on earth. Still, he heard this…

He thought about taking her hand, which fingers were tapping restlessly on the tablecloth, but she looked up at him with a smiling apologise. "I'm sorry. I'm bothering you with my life…"

"Not at all," he assured her with pure sincerity. She gazed wonderingly at him and he cursed himself for his foolish carelessness; he'd let Poker Face slip a second too long.

But did he really want to keep it? he thought, changing rapidly the subject. If she still felt that way towards him… if she still loved him…

But he immediately remembered her disgust of him when he'd first hidden her who he was, and realized it would be worse, much worse if she came to understand that he'd lied to her once more. He wouldn't bear to lose her again, he thought, and firmly directed his thoughts elsewhere.

The dinner ended too soon, much too soon to his liking. They stepped out in the Parisian cold night, a few stars visible through the buildings, among the mauve, light-reflecting clouds, and walked silently along the restaurant's street into one of the town's largest avenues. Not far away was spreading the large, shadowy surface of Paris' largest inward park, the Luxembourg. In the distance, its trees were a rustling dark-green.

Kaito peered at it thoughtfully. He had many times lost his path in one of those thin, deeply rooted lanes quite hidden from the wider alleyways, each time finding himself ending up by the garden's greater pool, on the lowest terrace. He rather doubted Aoko, with her over-taking job, had ever found free time to explore.

The want to walk there with her overwhelmed him like a blow.

She wasn't difficult to convince – she had drunk a little and was quite willing to follow him past the open gates of the park. He orientated himself. They weren't far from the pool… one of those large alleys must lead to it. How strange how the night was disturbing one's sense of direction…

They passed long lawns of grass, borded with abandoned chess tables before reaching at last a large, yellowish clearing strewn with stray metal-green chairs. The pool stood in the centre of it, round and wide and silver-blue; only the faintest trace of moonlight was reflecting on its still water.

Kaito lifted his gaze to the upper terrace, where, he knew, were gathered statues of Greek gods and French statues. He had half a mind to go up and see what they looked like at night. He was turning to ask Aoko about it, when he realized she was no longer beside him – alarmed, he finally spotted her halfway up the marble stairs, waving and beckoning him to follow up.

He climbed up the steps, smiling, keeping an eye out for ancient gods; but none sprang out of the darkness as he stepped onto the leaf-covered terrace. He joined Aoko, who was leaning against the parapet, and observed, "It's a beautiful spot."

"Quite beautiful," she agreed, her eyes resolutely fixed on the pool, downward.

As she didn't seem determined to speak again for a moment, he looked around for the statues. They were dispersed a few yards away, but the shade was sweeping out the details; they were spots of white in a misty darkness of black-green leaves and branches, rustling softly under the evening wind.

He was considering the idea of involving such a process in one of his tricks when Aoko's voice startled him. "Don't you miss Japan?" she asked.

He turned a little; she had lowered her head and he could only see her profile, partly shaded.

"Sometimes," he admitted, "but more specially the friends and relations I left over there."

She turned completely – her back pressed against the stone parapet – and her eyes met his. Maybe it was that gaze that pulled Kaito out of his senses, or maybe he'd wanted to do it since the beginning of the evening; anyhow, he felt his lips moving around the words, "Can I kiss you?"

He knew immediately it was a mistake. If she said yes, he would feel betrayed as Kuroba Kaito – if she said no… well, wasn't it obvious? He wanted to taste her lips again.

"No."

He felt the curious sensation of being both extremely disappointed and extremely relieved, and almost missed her next words.

"Takashi Hirota can't. But Kuroba Kaito can."

He gaped. Then, maybe even before his brain had registered what was happening, he pulled himself forward and kissed her.

Her lips were just as soft and tender as he remembered them – perhaps more, it was difficult to say. His senses were presently being overpowered by his hormones, and thinking wasn't really an option. Yet, when she began kissing him back, he nearly gasped in her mouth – this was the last thing he expected her to do, kissing back, kissing the way she did… hooking her hands behind his neck and tilting his head downwards the way she did. He slid one arm around her waist, pulling her closer and closer, until breath came to lack.

They broke off, both panting and staring at one another. Kaito released her slowly, certain it had all been a dream – yet he could still feel her lips upon his mouth, the taste and the shape of them. She slipped farther, rubbing her hands against her forearms as though she was suddenly cold.

"So," he said painfully – each word came out with difficulty, rolling on his tongue before he could utter it –, "you knew, didn't you?"

She nodded.

"All along?"

"All along."

"But–" the situation was escaping him and he liked nothing less than that. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't _you_?" she asked resolutely, folding her arms as though a shield.

"Because–" _of what happened five years ago._ But as he thought that he remembered what _had_ happened, her yells while he tried to explain, the disgust in her eyes and more than all her explicit desire of never seeing him again. And still, there she was, only a few yards from him, as pale as the white statues around them, and they'd just kissed again…

"Because I know you hate me," he said flatly. "Remember what you said five years ago?" his voice took incisive accents, while all the original anger at her came back in a breaking flow. "You said you would never meet me again. But you came here to see me. What do you want, break my heart again? Wanna repeat the experience?"

Her lips were quivering. "No."

"Then WHAT?_"_ he shouted. "You dumped me once. You _said_, Aoko, you said you hated me. You said you wouldn't speak to me again, let alone see me…"

"Don't play that game with me, Kuroba Kaito!" she yelled, and he was so surprised he didn't attempt to protest as she added, her voice growing louder and louder with every word, "Don't act the victim part _now_! The day after we broke up, Kaito, and all the days after until you left Japan, I called you everyday, I left a thousand messages, saying I was sorry, I didn't hate you, I wanted to know… you heard them, you _did!"_ she shrieked as he opened his mouth as though to retort. "You heard them, but you didn't call me back, you went away without notice – I was waiting for you, I went at your place, I kept calling you even after your mother told me you were gone, but she didn't even know where – your own mother, Kaito!"

She stopped, and began taking deep, long breaths, glaring at him through the bangs that had escaped her bun. He wanted to protest, say that he hadn't heard any message, he'd kept shut in his room for hours with the phone unplugged, his cell deep down in a chest of drawers, until he could bear no more and he left for America first, then France… but she went on before he could utter anything.

"How do you think I bore those last five years, Kuroba Kaito? Not as well as you, of course, I had no talent in particular, unlike you – I had to work, not simply move a hand and wait for food to fall from the sky! I studied so that I could be a journalist, for three and a half long years, hoping every day to get a call from or about you!" She turned on her heels, spreading her arms wide open. "What do you think I became a journalist for? Why do you think I specialised myself in magician shows and new-borns artists? I was trying to keep track on you, Kaito, because it was the only way I could, and I knew you were so talented one day you would make yourself famous…"

For a moment, he thought he'd seen a silver drop shimmer down her cheek. She immediately wiped it away, with irritation.

"And what about you?" she accused, obviously keen as to not letting any weak flank be seen. "What did you think, when I called you? Did you even remember me? Or did you think, 'Oh, great, she's willing to interview me even if she said she would never speak to me again, means I'm getting famous'?"

This appeared to Kaito as a low blow. She knew him enough to see this kind of things couldn't happen – yet she was so angry she seemed able to say anything. But before he could give her a piece of his mind, he felt her hands lay on his shoulders, and suddenly found her mouth pressing against his.

He had no objection. But as he opened his lips and went to slide his arms around her waist, she hastily broke free, and stared at him across the inches apart they were, a look of pure incomprehension stamped on her features. It was that look, those wide, farouche eyes so incredibly blue, which reminded him of everything she was risking without even knowing it.

No more now than five years before was she protected from the Organisation. His Takashi Hirota cover was no better than the identity of Kuroba Kaito. He might be found out any time – and if they found him they found her, if he got himself caught in this delicious trap.

So he shook his head and said coldly, his mouth hard, "I'm sorry. I can't."

Aoko looked as though she'd been slapped in the face. She took a deep breath, stepped back, and murmured, with a slight nod, "I see…" Her expression and voice were so wretched he thought he felt his heart crackle with a glass shatter. "I see…"

He wouldn't be able to stand this. He turned on his heels, dreading that his Poker Face should break if he remained there two seconds longer, but Aoko's voice stopped him cold again.

"Why?"

He looked down, unable to face her. He couldn't explain to her – it would give her too many hopes, and he wanted her to forget him, live her life happily, with the tiniest sting of regret when she should think about her long-lost childhood friend.

But this wasn't what she'd been heading to.

"Why did you accept my interview, if you didn't want to go any further? Why did you invite me to dinner, if you feel nothing for me anymore?"

It was probably this last sentence, those last few words, which stirred Kaito out of the trance-like state of mind he'd been in. Before he could actually know about it, he'd turned around again, had grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him.

One arm wrapped around her shoulders, the other tilting her chin to him, he kissed her yet again – but this time it was no soft and tender kiss – it was a kiss full of the passion he'd succeeded in holding back for all those years they'd known each other. His teeth were racking against her lower lip as he forced hers open, feeling dizzy with the urges spinning in his mind. Somewhere, he was still conscious this was a mistake; it was for Aoko's sake he had been going away, he'd never be able to back after that – but he then felt her arms graze around his chest as she pressed her body against his, and his brain stopped functioning but for his craving want of her.

They broke a second for breath, immediately missing each other's savour, then they sunk again in yet another kiss, forgetting about the lies from the past, the fears that awaited them in the future, forgetting everything…

-

She was sleeping. Her head lay upon her folded arm, and long locks of hair were tumbling down her shoulders onto her face, carelessly black on the creamy bedsheets. Her breath came out of her parted lips in a slow, peaceful way, and, all in all, it was an adorable sight. Leaning on his elbow, Kaito watched her with no smile.

Her beauty, this morning, reminded him only too acutely of the dangers she ran now. Because he'd broken down yesterday, and followed his heart while his head told him to hold back, she was now much more endangered than she'd ever been. The worse was probably that she had no idea of it, and he was going to have to explain it all to her…

But what would she choose? he thought, getting out of bed and pulling on jeans. He passed into the living-room, carefully closing the bedroom door behind him. What would she say, how would she look? With her temperamental character, she was perfectly able to stay and keep up with him…

What about him? What did he want? He could no longer say he didn't want her to stay. His behaviour last night had demonstrated the contrary, both to her and to himself. He wanted her back all right, but he was so afraid of what could happen to her… getting her killed… he would never stand that, never.

He dropped on the couch, burying his face in his hands. The dilemma was too important to be tackled carelessly like he tackled most things in his life. This wasn't an easy choice like deciding to run away from Japan or accepting an interview with her…

He sighed deeply and re-emerged, looking around the room as though he was seeing everything for the first time. For a moment, the crazy idea of running away with her had occurred to him, but he knew she would never break all strings with her past like he could do so easily. His eyes wandered lazily over the walls and the furniture, as though he thought the solution would swoop down from the ceiling for him to catch it.

His gaze fell on yesterday's newspaper, which he had never opened and laid neatly on the coffee table, where he'd dropped it only – was it only so little time ago? – less than twelve hours before. His mind had been too full of the dinner they were to have together to want any exterior news from the world.

Sighing again, he picked it up, more to busy his mind than by real interest. He ripped open the protecting plastic, and opening the paper wide, found himself faced with a face nearly alike to his own.

He gaped. This was Tantei-kun, undoubtedly – but no more in his chibi-form. He was a young man of twenty-four, looking tired and altered, but no glasses, no bowtie, no nothing. This was Kudo Shinichi, not Conan Edogawa.

He interested himself in the articles. The headlines hit him with the strength of a mach-2 wind, big and black and striking,

'CRIMINAL ORGANISATION BROUGHT DOWN'

'MAD SCIENTISTS FIND THE WAY TO JAIL'

'FBI AND JAPANESE DETECTIVES WORKING HAND IN HAND to hit at the bottom of the most alarming criminal organisation ever brought down. If the famous tantei Kudo Shinichi, who had mysteriously disappeared six years ago, looked weary and more than willing to join his family and closest friends when he got out of the FBI quarters in Japan yesterday morning, he found a bit of time to answer our questions…'

And, below, as Kaito's bewildered eyes found them,

'The scientific researches the organisation was leading were heading to nothing less than immortal life…'

'Famous movie-star Chris Vihnyard involved as one of the arrested members…'

'The trials should began to take place in the current week…'

The newspaper fell from the magician's numb fingers, and crumpled softly on the carpet between his feet. He leant against the sofa's back and let out a long, deep breath as the realization of what was really happening slapped him, keeping him from thinking clearly,

For a long moment he remained motionless. Then the first thought that struck him was, 'Aoko.' He'd been altered about her, tossing himself awake half the night, tortured by her closeness and the memories of what they had just done, what they should never have done… or so it seemed at the moment. But now it was all, all useless…

His head was spinning again, harder than the evening before, as he realized all the implications of this. It was over… Aoko… he would be able to keep her by his side… Aoko… it was all OVER…

He began to laugh, almost madly, at the foolishness of all this. The signs had been everywhere around him, on the news, in the papers, even – he remembered with shame – in the restaurant, where people had been talking of it. He could have seen them all, he'd missed them all… and consequently he'd driven himself crazy with his worries. It was silly, all of it, so silly…

It was wonderful, he thought, passing his hand over his sweaty face. He shook his head and felt it get lighter, as though his troubles were falling off like dust.

He strode to the bedroom door, unable to wait for her to wake up. At last he'd be able to tell her everything he'd never been allowed to, at last keep her safe and close to him without fearing every time that she should be endangered by his presence… As he opened the door he heard her stir, and saw her stretch deeply, still in mid-sleep.

Smiling, he sat on the bed, and watched her pull herself awake.

-

**Okay, so you have to know this story kept in my head the whole time it took me to write it, and it's been quite a while. I thought about it, acted it, dreamt about it, drew about it (in class, and I don't advice anyone here to do likewise). Well! now it's done… and I feel a bit numb… but I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.**

**To my mind, there aren't enough Kaito/Aoko fics here…**


	11. One winged angel

**Author's note: I do not own. I wish I did. But I don't.**

**Warning: this one is sad.**

**-**

**One-winged angel**

**-**

It was very late at night. The hospital was dark and silent, and all the windows were closed, the rooms inside hidden by their thick curtains. Only his were still drawn. He'd asked the nurses to leave the window open – for his hawk, he'd said. They had accepted, in spite of the hospital's regulations, because of the polite and aristocratic behaviour of this eighty-seven-years-old detective – and because, of course, the room was on the sixth floor. No one could have reached the window from outside, if not with wings…

Inside the small, greyish room, there was no sound to be heard, if not for the patient's slow, calm breathing through his gas mask and the tranquil beep-beep of the heart regulator. At the bed's feet was hung a panel showing the illness' evolution. The graphs were all going down.

The tall, lean man dressed in white who'd just entered the room through the window, exactly as if there'd been a balcony and he'd only come in from it, contemplated them with a grim face. He was completely silent as he watched, somewhat respectfully, the patient's sleeping face, wrinkled with age. He went to sit on the lonely chair by the bed and crossed his gloved hands on his lap, watching the covers unseeingly.

The old man's eyes opened imperceptibly, and something like a very, very faint smile stretched his thin, pale lips as he remarked the white and silent figure sitting by the bed.

"So," he murmured, "you finally came."

It seemed to be his voice, his toneless, breakable, glass-like voice, which drew the visitor out of his mournful trance. His raised his eyes to the patient's, and the latter saw, beneath the monocle, all the remorse and regret implied in this innocent blueness.

"Maybe you're like the angel of light," he said, with the quaintest trace of his long gone irony in his trembling voice, "who comes to me and tells me I am to go now."

The white-clothed figure shook his head with something like the remains of a smirk. "Don't be a fool," he said. His voice was shaking as well, and his hands quivered as he laid them down on his lap again.

"Then take them off," the detective said, and one wrinkled hand was extricated from the blankets to point at the hat and monocle. "You don't need to disguise with me anymore."

The thief didn't argue. Slowly, without a word, he took off his white top hat, unhooked the monocle, to uncover the young, innocence-like, unscathed face of Kuroba Kaito.

The detective then let out a long sigh, so deep and breathful a sigh like only a very, very old man could have mustered. "So," he said, and his voice seemed firmer and sadder with the second, "that… that was it."

Kid nodded silently. He avoided the older man's eyes, as though he dreaded to see his reflection in this golden gaze that had lost nothing of his ancient pierceness.

"Pandora… so this was the curse it held from the beginning."

Another nod. Kuroba didn't seem to be in a mood to say any word about that.

"But is the jewel destroyed?"

"Yes." Destroyed. Now and forever. So that no one could get cursed like I was. He didn't say all of this, but Hakuba guessed it very well.

"And… is there no way you can free yourself?"

"Only if I pass it on to somebody else. And I will never do that. No one should have to bear with this… I'll give it over only if someone asks me to, and I shall be careful to make sure they know what they're about. If they do know what they're doing, if they don't just think it's wonderful to have eternal life…" he shrugged. "I guess then I'll allow myself to be selfish."

He leant on his elbows and smiled kindly at the dying detective. "But till then, I'll have to see all my friends going, while I stay."

The two ex-rivals kept silent for a few moments more, listening to the machine's rapid beeping. It was like a heart beating, the last shocks of the detective's ending life. Then Kaito spoke again, in a low voice that didn't seem to make any sense.

"They all went, one after the other… It was my father first, because of _them_… Then my mother, because she save me… because she knew and she never told me… I could have protected her." Hakuba let him talk, and nothing but his faster breathing could have indicated that staying conscious was beginning to be difficult.

"And Akako… Hakuba, I'm so sorry… she too was trying to save me from this curse… but she gave her life for nothing."

The old man's fingers tightened a little around the cover, and their knuckles went white as he understood at last how and why the woman he loved had died.

"And then it was Aoko's turn… Aoko, who loved me, and whom I loved, too, more than my own life…" His voice faltered. His head bent down and black bangs, messy as ever, hid away his eyes. Hakuba did not try and induce him to speak again; the memory of this frightful night, and the one gunshot that had ended her life forever, was still vivid in his mind too.

"Aoko… whom I still love, even in death. Even if it's been years." He looked up at the dying tantei, his eyes full of expectation, as though defying him to believe the contrary. But the detective's eyes were misty and weary, and the thief immediately dropped his Poker Face – the only thing that remained now that everything else was gone. "And now it's your turn."

Hakuba nodded weakly. "Well, sorry, Kuroba… I can't really help it." He let out a chocked sound that was, at best, a chuckle.

"Are you afraid?" the thief asked in a toneless voice. It was obvious that he, at least, _was_ afraid – but, like always, afraid for others instead of himself. He hadn't changed, Hakuba thought with melancholy – his heart too had remained as innocent, in spite of everything that had tried to spoil it.

"Well, yes, a little, I think…" he replied thoughtfully. "Maybe not of death itself, but of what awaits me on the other side. You know I've always wanted to know everything…" Kaito's tired lips stretched into a nostalgic smile. "Well, right now I'm going straight in the unknown."

He closed his eyes. Seeing was beginning to feel difficult too, let alone speaking. Kuroba must have felt his pain, for a gloved hand grabbed his own and squeezed it gently. Hakuba's numb fingers returned the pressure, but they nearly didn't feel anything anymore. "So, yes, I guess I'm afraid."

He looked up at the thief with something tugging at his white lips, as he moved them with obvious pain (what it a smile? or rather a twitch of the mouth? there was no way he could smile when he was just about to die, was there?). "But I've got a friend who'll stay with me until the end…"

A hawk alighted on the windowsill and cocked his bony, beautiful head to the side, his beck opening in a wondering cry, his eyes streaming with gold in the nightly background. Outside, the town's noises kept going on and on and on, oblivious to this life that was about to end like it had begun, in a small hospital chamber.

The thief squeezed the detective's hand tightly. "Until the very end," he murmured.

-

Next morning, the nurse found in his bed the cold, yet peaceful body of one Hakuba Saguru, the famous half-brit detective who'd remained famous even in his old days. It had been a polite, agreeable man, and she felt sad; she had learnt to like that patient. Still, it was as well he'd left that way, tranquilly, in the midst of the night… even if he'd been alone, without a friend to watch him go and wish him luck.

The weird thing, she found, was that a corner of the cover was slightly damp, as if it had been cried upon.

-

**Not much to say after that. Do review. I wish you'd let me know what you thought about this one.**


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